I have traveled through 3 countries in 27 days and set out to complete 17 scavenger hunt items. Let's see how I did.
Key:
Completed
Attempted but not complete
1. Find out what's so special about the "special toilets" in the Amsterdam Schiphol Airport. They say it's like you're in a field of Dutch tulips.
I searched for these special toilets and could not find them. I think I may have mis-read the website or they're located in the airport day spa (yes, the airport has a day spa).
2. Grab a square of toilet paper form Westminster Abbey or St. Paul's Cathedral. I hear it's stamped and has a different texture.
I couldn't find the bathrooms let alone a square of toilet paper. When I asked where the bathrooms were, they shrugged their shoulders and sent me to the Methodist church across the street.
3. Have afternoon tea drinking tea with my pinky up.
Completed at the Pump Room in Bath, England.
4. Get Starbucks. (What can I say? I'm a fan.)
I went to one in each country.
5. Go to the London theater.
I saw Carousel.
6. Call from or take a picture of a red phone booth.
I called my Dad from outside Madame Tussuad's and had my picture taken in one while in the Cotswolds.
7. Ride or take a picture of a red double-decker bus.
I rode them in Edinburgh, Scotland.
8. Buy something at Harrod's.
Done.
9. Walk along Stanage Edge like Kiera Knightly in "Pride and Prejudice."
Done with much effort!
10. Pose with a pint/ try a 'shandy'.
I tried a shandy at a pub in the Cotswolds and had my first pint at the Guinness Storehouse in Dublin, Ireland.
11. Try a wee dram of Scotch whiskey.
I tried one at the Scottish Whiskey Experience in Edinburgh, Scotland.
12. See the Colin Firth version of Pemberley from "Pride and Prejudice."
After a one mile hike, done.
13. Look over the Cliffs of Moher.
With some creativity, done.
14. Experience God in other cultures.
I encountered God in all three countries in unexpected ways.
15. Set foot in the places of my ancestors.
Done on the Isle of Skye, Scotland and Galway, Ireland.
16. Discover the mystery at Madame Tussuad's. What will happen to me at the end? (This challenge courtesy of my Dad.)
There was supposed to be a wax figure of an attendant that my Dad and Grandfather thought was real. Both asked it questions unbeknownst to the other person, so my Dad wanted to see if I was tricked as well. I didn't see it when I was there, but I did ask a question of an attendant. She was real though.
17. Spot Nessie. You never know what lurks in the Loch Ness!
Done with much persistence. She's tricky!
My score: 14 out of 17 - 82%
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
A Peace Divided: Giant's Causeway, Belfast
It was a crisp, clear morning in Dublin. The sun was just rising, outlining the stacks from the Guinness plant as we walked to the tram station by our hotel, allowing the morning air to slap the fogginess out of our heads. We were headed to Connolly Train station for our day tour to Northern Ireland. It's a bittersweet day because we're excited about visiting Northern Ireland, but sad that it's a day filled with lasts - our last tour, our last day in Ireland, and the last day of our trip. Our tram arrived just in time to re-focus our thoughts on the adventure that awaited us.
We arrived before our meeting time of 7:15am. Seeing there was not a yellow-jacket tour guide around, we sought out something that would aid us in our trip experience - coffee. Breakfast was not included at this hotel, so we were among the first in line when the train station cafe opened for business.
We eventually spied our yellow-jacket tour guide who happened to be the same one we had on the cliffs of moher tour, one of our more challenging tours. He looked through us as if he didn't recognize us and walked on, past the turn stiles and on towards the trains. Should we follow him? Is there another waiting area we're not aware of? He eventually came back and checked the group in, remembering us from before. He seemed more pleasant, his tone softer this time around.
Like little ducklings, we followed our yellow-jacket tour guide to the train where a car was reserved for us, noting our group was small. Apparently we were meeting up with a larger tour when we arrived in Belfast.
Rows of people, commuters, students, business men and women were in line waiting to board another train but there was no movement. We had not been allowed to board either. After a half-hour, we found out the train engine was dead. It's not a good sign when you see the engineer thumbing through the train manual.
After an hour delay, we were boarded onto a much smaller commuter train. This meant our first photo stop was cancelled so we could make up for lost time. It was a castle but we were assured it was nothing spectacular. If it's not worth seeing, than why is it on the tour?
The wild, green landscapes seemed to become tame as the British flag revealed itself in more and more places, a subtle announcement that we were now in Northern Ireland. We arrived in Belfast and met up with our local tour guide who would also be our driver. We missed the large bus we were to transfer to and had a small coach with just our group instead. We were so thankful!
The tour guide was a native of Belfast and spoke with a mix of a Scottish and Irish accent. Sandy and I loved it. The harsher Irish accents we had grown accustomed to had no "th" sound. Thank you was 'tank you', with was 'wit', and our favorite, Catholic cathedral was 'catlick cateedral'. Try using them in a sentence: "Tank you for being wit us in ta Catlick cateedral." He threatened to leave Sandy and I at the coast to appease the local fishermen. With a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he looked like he just might do it. We better keep on eye on this one.
Rain and hail accomp
anied us on our 50 minute drive to our first stop, the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge. When we arrived, blue sky and warm weather welcomed us to explore the rugged coastline, allowing us to not wear our coats and scarves for the first time on this trip. The color of the ocean mirrored the blue sky, the water glistening with each wave. The call of birds led us further down the path to the rope bridge where they seemed to be nesting amidst a rocky cliff full of wildflowers. After a full morning and a half of traveling, this was exactly what we needed.
The rope bridge connected to a rocky island, allowing up to eight people to cross in a single file line at one time. Sandy and I were each able to spend a little time alone on the bridge to really experience how dramatic it was with the waves crashing below, but don't look down!
Our hour flew by, finding ourselves on our way to the Giant's Causeway for lunch and exploring. The Giant's Causeway is known as the eighth wonder of the world due to its hexagonal basalt columns that look like steps varying in height from 1 foot on up. It is thought these odd formations were due to volcanic activity where molten lava crystallized when it came into contact with cold water. We were anxious to see this but our stomachs would not let us forget that it was now 2pm and we had barely eaten anything today.
While most of our tour went to explore the Causeway, Sandy and I went to the Causeway Hotel for lunch. There was only one thing that would satisfy this hunger and our ongoing culinary experimentation - a hamburger made with Irish beef. We had to compare Scotland and Ireland's beef. We're here to report while both far outweigh American beef, Scotland won this taste test hands down.
Our yellow-jacket tour guide led us to the Causeway entrance and encouraged us to take the coastal walk. "You're young. You can make it," he persisted. We only had one hour left to explore and had been debating whether to use the shuttle to save time, but since our tour guide seemed to think we could do it, we went for it. Besides, if we were late, he'd know where we were because he told us which way to go.
I don't think our tour g
uide took into consideration time for taking pictures. Remember the little escapade he led us on in Galway when leading us to our hotel? He's also a fast walker and our stomachs were stuffed. These realizations hit us when we reached the top of the path which overlooked the ocean and the Causeway, bringing the rest of the lengthy path into full view. We had a ways to go. Upon looking at the Causeway from a distance, it reminded me of a pre-historic Lego land worn by the ocean's relentless tide.
We picked up our pace, trying to snap photos and soak in the beauty at the same time while watching our footing along the cliff's edge. Making our way off the cliff and towards t
he foot of the Causeway, its grand mystique towered over us leaving us staring upward in awe. How was this created again? I've never seen anything like it in my life.
We used the columns as steps to lead us up to the main attraction, featuring thousands of grayish/ black columns, the ocean in the background. It was like being a kid on a playground as we let our feet lead us. Images of playing hopscotch and climbing on the jungle gym came into view while we tried not to step on cracks for fear of breaking our mother's back.
We had 15 minutes to spare which gave us enough time to catch the shuttle, taking us to the top. We joined what appeared to be an Asian tour group which filled up most of the shuttle. While the driver waited for stragglers, one gentleman began singing, encouraging the other members of the group to join in on the lively song. We didn't understand the words because they were in another language, but attempted to join them on the clapping parts. It was when the gentleman, their tour guide, started pointing at us that we got worried. What were they saying about us? We continued to smile and clap hoping for the best.
When the song was done and finale clapping ceased, the tour guide interpreted the song in English, which was a song about our smiles, fair skin, and apple cheeks. They were a tour group from Taiwan and were having a blast. We wished we had him for a tour guide although part of us was still shocked. We have never been serenaded by a Taiwanese tour group before. When they found out we were from California, they teasingly repeated the name, wondering why we'd leave such a beautiful place. An older Scottish gentleman piped up, "I always wondered where Californians came for holiday." I jokingly replied, "We don't have anything like the Giant's Causeway."
The shuttle guide told us stories of the mythical giant and his Granny who lived at the Causeway. Granny appeared to have a good time as good Irish Grannys do, staying out too late and drinking a wee too many whiskeys. When she'd come home in the early morning, she would cause such a ruckus waking the giant up. He was a family man and needed his sleep. He told Granny to keep it down, but being a stubborn, Irish Granny, she wouldn't so he turned her into stone.
We stared at the stone that looked like a hunched over Granny climbing a rock as we made our way to the top of the hill while graciously thanking our new Taiwanese friends for their kind offer to visit their country.
We made it back to the shuttle bus on time and began our trip back to Belfast, making a short photo stop at one of the many castles before we stopped at the Old Bushmill's Whiskey distillery. The smell of yeast, almost like fresh baked bread hung in the air as we walked into the visitor center where Sandy and I tasted one of their Irish Whiskeys. The warm feel left by the taste of whiskey was soon replaced with tension and sadness as we were introduced to Belfast and a peace divided.
It looked like a r
egular city as we began our drive through Belfast, passing apartment buildings, businesses, and churches but when our tour guide began to verbally lead us past these stone facades, we were able to see the city's wounds caused by religious and political war. Catholics vs. Protestants. Green vs. Orange. Thirty years of war that supposedly ended in 1998 with the Belfast Agreement. It's peace on paper but not in all hearts as is evident by sporadic violent outbursts and the towering wall that divides both communities known as the 'peace wall'.
We made our way through the Catholic quarters, on one side of the wall and into the Prot
estant quarter, passing electric gates that close every night at 7pm. Reminders of 'The Troubles' as the war is referred to are everywhere. Murals of war heroes looked down on us from the sides of houses; art as an expression of grief, anger, and desperation called to us at the base of the peace wall as we drove past, a wall constructed to intercept missiles; and a sniper's eyes and gun followed our every move from his mural across the way, painted in such a way to let people know they're always being watched.
A mixture of shock and deep sadness consumed me as we passed a man looking quite intently at us contrasted by young girls playing in a street nearby. This is not how it's supposed to be. Two religions with differences have at their core the same thing in common - Jesus, yet it seems Jesus has been made to be political, having to choose sides and colors.
Our tour guide said the city is trying to revamp its image, deal with the past so they can move on to a new future. Some of the war memorial murals are being painted over in exchange for funding from the government for neighborhood upkeep. A great deal of money is being put forth to market one of Belfast's good achievements - the making of the Titanic.
We drove by the ship yard where the Titanic was launched. On the way to it, new apartments that resemble the facade of the famous ship are being constructed. The city is trying to rebuild its image and hopes to be able to take down the peace wall. When our tour guide was asked if he thought it would happen, he paused and said no.
Rain joined us again as we headed back to the Belfast train station for our return journey to Dublin. We chatted with a couple on our tour from the US while we were waiting for our train. The husband is a retired police officer who used to work for the U.N. training police officers in war-torn areas. He made friends with a police officer from Northern Ireland who shed light on their struggles for equality. Their issues are not with race or gender like in the US, but with religion instead. They are now working to have a police force with a 50/50 split of Catholic and Protestant officers.
We boarded the train after trying to use of all of Sandy's remaining British pound money and reflected on today's experiences while we watched the sunset. The people we've met, the stories we've heard, and the sights we have seen have been truly a life-changing experience. The tears of my eyes express the sorrow my heart feels each time I think about the situation in Belfast. Whether the struggle is between race or religion, obesity or alcoholism, we all have our struggles that separate us. Sadly we forget what unites us, the 'umbrella etiquette' of life that has the power to cover our wrongs and transform our hearts - Love.
"Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins." ~ I Peter 4:8
We arrived at Connolly Train station and reversed our morning's events, taking the tram back to the hotel where sleep was not on the agenda. We had a 3am taxi pick-up scheduled to take us to the airport for our 6am flight. We spent the rest of the night and morning filling out VAT (value added tax) forms to get tax money back on purchases made, repacking our luggage which by now was wearing thin on its magical expanding capabilities, and got take away chicken kabobs at 11:30pm.
The Dublin Airport was dead at 3:30am, making the challenge of finding where the VAT office was located more difficult since there were no attendants around to ask. With no sleep, we wandered the airport to keep us awake and came across a glorious sign as we entered the food court - Starbucks. It seemed to light up; the sound of a choir softly singing "Hallelujah" filled our ears. We raced over only to find a glass wall separated us from it. It was on the other side of security which we had already been through. Sandy offered to go back and throw a coffee over the security check point since we found out they don't allow us to bring liquids through, but we had another plan.
We began to think like Starbucks. They don't travel alone. There's got to be another one around here somewhere. This became our mission. We found the Starbucks twin in the last terminal we walked through, giving us a deep sense of satisfaction, as deep as it can be at 5am.
A toast was in order which usually is the case when holding any beverage. In this case, we raised our lattes not just to an amazing day, but to an amazing journey, commemorating another lifetime scavenger hunt item completed with the photos and stories to prove it.
We arrived before our meeting time of 7:15am. Seeing there was not a yellow-jacket tour guide around, we sought out something that would aid us in our trip experience - coffee. Breakfast was not included at this hotel, so we were among the first in line when the train station cafe opened for business.
We eventually spied our yellow-jacket tour guide who happened to be the same one we had on the cliffs of moher tour, one of our more challenging tours. He looked through us as if he didn't recognize us and walked on, past the turn stiles and on towards the trains. Should we follow him? Is there another waiting area we're not aware of? He eventually came back and checked the group in, remembering us from before. He seemed more pleasant, his tone softer this time around.
Like little ducklings, we followed our yellow-jacket tour guide to the train where a car was reserved for us, noting our group was small. Apparently we were meeting up with a larger tour when we arrived in Belfast.
Rows of people, commuters, students, business men and women were in line waiting to board another train but there was no movement. We had not been allowed to board either. After a half-hour, we found out the train engine was dead. It's not a good sign when you see the engineer thumbing through the train manual.
After an hour delay, we were boarded onto a much smaller commuter train. This meant our first photo stop was cancelled so we could make up for lost time. It was a castle but we were assured it was nothing spectacular. If it's not worth seeing, than why is it on the tour?
The wild, green landscapes seemed to become tame as the British flag revealed itself in more and more places, a subtle announcement that we were now in Northern Ireland. We arrived in Belfast and met up with our local tour guide who would also be our driver. We missed the large bus we were to transfer to and had a small coach with just our group instead. We were so thankful!
The tour guide was a native of Belfast and spoke with a mix of a Scottish and Irish accent. Sandy and I loved it. The harsher Irish accents we had grown accustomed to had no "th" sound. Thank you was 'tank you', with was 'wit', and our favorite, Catholic cathedral was 'catlick cateedral'. Try using them in a sentence: "Tank you for being wit us in ta Catlick cateedral." He threatened to leave Sandy and I at the coast to appease the local fishermen. With a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he looked like he just might do it. We better keep on eye on this one.
Rain and hail accomp
anied us on our 50 minute drive to our first stop, the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge. When we arrived, blue sky and warm weather welcomed us to explore the rugged coastline, allowing us to not wear our coats and scarves for the first time on this trip. The color of the ocean mirrored the blue sky, the water glistening with each wave. The call of birds led us further down the path to the rope bridge where they seemed to be nesting amidst a rocky cliff full of wildflowers. After a full morning and a half of traveling, this was exactly what we needed.The rope bridge connected to a rocky island, allowing up to eight people to cross in a single file line at one time. Sandy and I were each able to spend a little time alone on the bridge to really experience how dramatic it was with the waves crashing below, but don't look down!
Our hour flew by, finding ourselves on our way to the Giant's Causeway for lunch and exploring. The Giant's Causeway is known as the eighth wonder of the world due to its hexagonal basalt columns that look like steps varying in height from 1 foot on up. It is thought these odd formations were due to volcanic activity where molten lava crystallized when it came into contact with cold water. We were anxious to see this but our stomachs would not let us forget that it was now 2pm and we had barely eaten anything today.
While most of our tour went to explore the Causeway, Sandy and I went to the Causeway Hotel for lunch. There was only one thing that would satisfy this hunger and our ongoing culinary experimentation - a hamburger made with Irish beef. We had to compare Scotland and Ireland's beef. We're here to report while both far outweigh American beef, Scotland won this taste test hands down.
Our yellow-jacket tour guide led us to the Causeway entrance and encouraged us to take the coastal walk. "You're young. You can make it," he persisted. We only had one hour left to explore and had been debating whether to use the shuttle to save time, but since our tour guide seemed to think we could do it, we went for it. Besides, if we were late, he'd know where we were because he told us which way to go.
I don't think our tour g
uide took into consideration time for taking pictures. Remember the little escapade he led us on in Galway when leading us to our hotel? He's also a fast walker and our stomachs were stuffed. These realizations hit us when we reached the top of the path which overlooked the ocean and the Causeway, bringing the rest of the lengthy path into full view. We had a ways to go. Upon looking at the Causeway from a distance, it reminded me of a pre-historic Lego land worn by the ocean's relentless tide.We picked up our pace, trying to snap photos and soak in the beauty at the same time while watching our footing along the cliff's edge. Making our way off the cliff and towards t
he foot of the Causeway, its grand mystique towered over us leaving us staring upward in awe. How was this created again? I've never seen anything like it in my life.We used the columns as steps to lead us up to the main attraction, featuring thousands of grayish/ black columns, the ocean in the background. It was like being a kid on a playground as we let our feet lead us. Images of playing hopscotch and climbing on the jungle gym came into view while we tried not to step on cracks for fear of breaking our mother's back.
We had 15 minutes to spare which gave us enough time to catch the shuttle, taking us to the top. We joined what appeared to be an Asian tour group which filled up most of the shuttle. While the driver waited for stragglers, one gentleman began singing, encouraging the other members of the group to join in on the lively song. We didn't understand the words because they were in another language, but attempted to join them on the clapping parts. It was when the gentleman, their tour guide, started pointing at us that we got worried. What were they saying about us? We continued to smile and clap hoping for the best.
When the song was done and finale clapping ceased, the tour guide interpreted the song in English, which was a song about our smiles, fair skin, and apple cheeks. They were a tour group from Taiwan and were having a blast. We wished we had him for a tour guide although part of us was still shocked. We have never been serenaded by a Taiwanese tour group before. When they found out we were from California, they teasingly repeated the name, wondering why we'd leave such a beautiful place. An older Scottish gentleman piped up, "I always wondered where Californians came for holiday." I jokingly replied, "We don't have anything like the Giant's Causeway."
The shuttle guide told us stories of the mythical giant and his Granny who lived at the Causeway. Granny appeared to have a good time as good Irish Grannys do, staying out too late and drinking a wee too many whiskeys. When she'd come home in the early morning, she would cause such a ruckus waking the giant up. He was a family man and needed his sleep. He told Granny to keep it down, but being a stubborn, Irish Granny, she wouldn't so he turned her into stone.
We stared at the stone that looked like a hunched over Granny climbing a rock as we made our way to the top of the hill while graciously thanking our new Taiwanese friends for their kind offer to visit their country.
We made it back to the shuttle bus on time and began our trip back to Belfast, making a short photo stop at one of the many castles before we stopped at the Old Bushmill's Whiskey distillery. The smell of yeast, almost like fresh baked bread hung in the air as we walked into the visitor center where Sandy and I tasted one of their Irish Whiskeys. The warm feel left by the taste of whiskey was soon replaced with tension and sadness as we were introduced to Belfast and a peace divided.
It looked like a r
egular city as we began our drive through Belfast, passing apartment buildings, businesses, and churches but when our tour guide began to verbally lead us past these stone facades, we were able to see the city's wounds caused by religious and political war. Catholics vs. Protestants. Green vs. Orange. Thirty years of war that supposedly ended in 1998 with the Belfast Agreement. It's peace on paper but not in all hearts as is evident by sporadic violent outbursts and the towering wall that divides both communities known as the 'peace wall'.We made our way through the Catholic quarters, on one side of the wall and into the Prot
estant quarter, passing electric gates that close every night at 7pm. Reminders of 'The Troubles' as the war is referred to are everywhere. Murals of war heroes looked down on us from the sides of houses; art as an expression of grief, anger, and desperation called to us at the base of the peace wall as we drove past, a wall constructed to intercept missiles; and a sniper's eyes and gun followed our every move from his mural across the way, painted in such a way to let people know they're always being watched.A mixture of shock and deep sadness consumed me as we passed a man looking quite intently at us contrasted by young girls playing in a street nearby. This is not how it's supposed to be. Two religions with differences have at their core the same thing in common - Jesus, yet it seems Jesus has been made to be political, having to choose sides and colors.
Our tour guide said the city is trying to revamp its image, deal with the past so they can move on to a new future. Some of the war memorial murals are being painted over in exchange for funding from the government for neighborhood upkeep. A great deal of money is being put forth to market one of Belfast's good achievements - the making of the Titanic.
We drove by the ship yard where the Titanic was launched. On the way to it, new apartments that resemble the facade of the famous ship are being constructed. The city is trying to rebuild its image and hopes to be able to take down the peace wall. When our tour guide was asked if he thought it would happen, he paused and said no.
Rain joined us again as we headed back to the Belfast train station for our return journey to Dublin. We chatted with a couple on our tour from the US while we were waiting for our train. The husband is a retired police officer who used to work for the U.N. training police officers in war-torn areas. He made friends with a police officer from Northern Ireland who shed light on their struggles for equality. Their issues are not with race or gender like in the US, but with religion instead. They are now working to have a police force with a 50/50 split of Catholic and Protestant officers.
We boarded the train after trying to use of all of Sandy's remaining British pound money and reflected on today's experiences while we watched the sunset. The people we've met, the stories we've heard, and the sights we have seen have been truly a life-changing experience. The tears of my eyes express the sorrow my heart feels each time I think about the situation in Belfast. Whether the struggle is between race or religion, obesity or alcoholism, we all have our struggles that separate us. Sadly we forget what unites us, the 'umbrella etiquette' of life that has the power to cover our wrongs and transform our hearts - Love.
"Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins." ~ I Peter 4:8
We arrived at Connolly Train station and reversed our morning's events, taking the tram back to the hotel where sleep was not on the agenda. We had a 3am taxi pick-up scheduled to take us to the airport for our 6am flight. We spent the rest of the night and morning filling out VAT (value added tax) forms to get tax money back on purchases made, repacking our luggage which by now was wearing thin on its magical expanding capabilities, and got take away chicken kabobs at 11:30pm.
The Dublin Airport was dead at 3:30am, making the challenge of finding where the VAT office was located more difficult since there were no attendants around to ask. With no sleep, we wandered the airport to keep us awake and came across a glorious sign as we entered the food court - Starbucks. It seemed to light up; the sound of a choir softly singing "Hallelujah" filled our ears. We raced over only to find a glass wall separated us from it. It was on the other side of security which we had already been through. Sandy offered to go back and throw a coffee over the security check point since we found out they don't allow us to bring liquids through, but we had another plan.
We began to think like Starbucks. They don't travel alone. There's got to be another one around here somewhere. This became our mission. We found the Starbucks twin in the last terminal we walked through, giving us a deep sense of satisfaction, as deep as it can be at 5am.
A toast was in order which usually is the case when holding any beverage. In this case, we raised our lattes not just to an amazing day, but to an amazing journey, commemorating another lifetime scavenger hunt item completed with the photos and stories to prove it.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Umbrella Etiquette: Connemara
We have been fortunate. We joked that we brought the stereotypical California weather with us but today, the jig was up. We got to experience Ireland in its natural state of rain. Sandy and I came prepared for it eager to give our rain jackets, quick drying clothes, and Gortex shoes a run for their money. We were headed to one of the most beautiful places on the west coast of Ireland - Connemara.
It was our last day in Galway so we enjoyed our continental breakfast, grabbed sandwich fixings for lunch, and lugged our luggage to the meeting spot which when we arrived in Galway was explained to us clear as mud. The French family on our tour beat us to it, the father yelling at us from across the way to get our attention, directing us to the right bus. There we met the four French ladies and headed off.
Clouds, mist, and rain accompanied us as we went through the rugged countryside framed by craggy mountain peaks hidden in fog, through bog fields where peat is harvested for fuel (Remember the campfire in the living room?), and on to our first photo stop at Maam Cross. This stone bridge was made famous in the 1950's John Wayne and Maureen O'Hara film "The Quiet Man".
The rugged mountains seemed to play a child's version of hide and seek with us a
s we drove past, trying to hide behind the fog like a child putting their hands over their eyes, thinking that made them invisible. Their presence was known as we passed through the valley to the village of Leenane for our first break. We parked next to a pub called Gaynor's or The Field Bar, used in the 1990's movie "The Field", filmed locally in Leenane.
This village sits in the midst of green hills at the mouth of the Killary Harbour, theorized as Ireland's only fjord, a body of water formed by glaciers. Rows of mussel rafts lay in the Harbour as we drove past, reminding me of lane lines at a swim meet.
Our lunch stop was at Kylemore Abbey, the home of Irish Benedictine nuns and a girls school, is nestled in a mountainous valley that
stands at the edge of a lake surrounded by woodlands. The Abbey was built in 1868 by Michael Henry as a tribute to his late wife, Margaret since she loved the area. I can see why. The white facade of the neo-Gothic stone Abbey seemed to beam in the misty rain and various shades of green trees. It was like staring at a painting but when reaching out to touch the canvas, I grasped raindrops instead. As we stared at the sight, Sandy said she could almost believe there to be 40 shades of green. Just imagine what it looks like when it's sunny!
Our tour guide informed us it cost 8 euros to enter the Abbey and gardens which was not included in the tour. I have been traveling for 25 days and by this point, I was tired of spending money. Being that Sandy felt the same way, we both decided not to by a ticket.
Shock and horror came over our tour guide's face at this news, prompting him to say, "You poor girls. Oh dear God." He most likely pictured us wandering about in the rain like wet mice for two hours. We weren't going to die. We decided to enjoy the Abbey from a distance, get some coffee in the cafeteria, and people watch instead. On a day like today, this proved very entertaining. It's here I came to understand the art of umbrella etiquette.
Sandy and I bought our coffees, found a window-side table with a picturesque view of the Abbey, ate our sandwiches, and watched how people handle the rain differently. Many people were not prepared for the elements so it was interesting to see what they did when they realized this.
Some people, mostly guys ignored it. They may or may not have had a hood on their jacket but it didn't matter. They're tough. They're macho. No stinking rain drops of water, no matter if they're drenching their face are going to affect them. They kept smiling and talking as they walked past.
Some tried to protect themselves with what they had. This involved the use of hoodies, briefcases, newspapers, and pulling their jackets up over the heads. Their casual paces quickened when they realized they were getting soaked.
Others fell into the category of "what were you thinking?" I hate to be hard on my sex, but women seemed to dominate this category by dressing like they were going to Hawaii. They may have been on their honeymoon or just wanted to look cute, but come on, ladies. You can look cute and be warm and dry at the same time.
There were a couple guys who were sporting wool sweaters which has the warm issue covered but mixed without having an umbrella - bad combination.
Most people were prepared by having waterproof jackets with hoods or if they weren't, they hustled into the gift shop and bought a glorified trash bag to put over themselves. However, it was those with umbrellas that fascinated me the most.
Each umbrella has its own story with their own designs and colors. Some were sturdy and large, looking like they had the capacity to fit a tribe under them and be flipped upside down to be used as an emergency sailing vessel should a flood emerge.
Others looked like they were used in battle to shield soldiers from cannonballs... and failed. Even though the spokes were showing and the fabric was flapping in the breeze, people still held these weather-beaten umbrellas over them as if the backup invisible water-repellent shield would kick in at any moment. This made me chuckle and feel sorry at the same time.
Regardless of the type of umbrella, there is a proper way to use it for maximum coverage and enjoyment of all, especially when two people are involved. This is known as 'umbrella etiquette'.
We saw many examples as we watched couples walking about mostly putting the responsibility on the guy. Here's what worked:
1. Have the taller person hold the umbrella. This allows the shorter person to not loose blood flow to their arm trying to get the umbrella over the taller person's head. Some guys if they're very tall hunkered down a bit to come close to the lady's height. Otherwise she would be fair game for the rain to attack her. The guys who did this I admit looked a bit funny but from a lady's perspective, was quite thoughtful.
2. Center the umbrella over the both of you, thinking of the person you're covering before yourself. This may seem like common sense, but there were a few couples where the guy was an umbrella hog, leaving the lady uncovered.
3. Walk close together, matching the shorter person's stride. This is key. It's like you're in a three-legged race. You both have to work together to get to the destination dry. It's been noted many guys put their arm around the lady's shoulders or link arms to help achieve this. It can also be quite romantic, making both parties forget that it's even raining!
Many guys forgot this step and ended up high-tailing it to the destination, leaving the lady scrambling behind uncovered. Some guys had their arm around the lady but forgot to match her pace, making it look like he was dragging her to the destination. All the ladies' faces in this scenario showed they were not happy.
Amidst people watching, we noticed the fog slowly engulf the wooded hill behind the Abbey. I could imagine fairies frolicking in the midst of the raindrops, up to no good, most likely the culprits behind the weather-beaten umbrellas. It was a good day to be indoors by a fire, but since there was no fire to be had, we ventured out into the elements, quite impressed with our choice of protective clothing, and headed to the bus for our return trip to Galway. We made a couple of photo stops along the way before we arrived in the city center.
We grabbed our luggage and began walking in the direction of the train station to catch our train to Dublin, even though we weren't quite sure where it was. We noticed the four French ladies and the French family following us like we knew where we were going, making us the unofficial tour guides. Walking with pretend confidence, we found the train station with plenty of time to relax before our departure.
We had never boarded the train without a yellow-jacket tour guide who handled our tickets and seat reservations. This time we were on our own and didn't know what to expect. As our turns approached, I pulled out our yellow travel pack and in an instant, the conductor waived us on.
Our golden tickets had power! Each hotel we stayed at, each train station we went through, we just showed them our yellow packet and BAM! - access granted! We softly sung, "I've got a golden ticket" from the movie "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory" each time we had to use it.
It was dark in Dublin, close to 9:30pm when we arrived at Heuston Rail Station and we had to find our hotel. I thought I had spied it when we were on the Dublin Bus tour so this was our chance to see if I was correct. We lugged our luggage over a bridge lighted green from underneath, the River Liffey below, when we saw our hotel. We pulled out our yellow packet with our golden accommodation ticket, got checked in, and headed out for another new, culinary experience - take away, otherwise known as 'food to go'.
From our hotel we walked in the direction of neon lights which could be good or bad depending on the neighborhood. We decided to chance it and found one of the neon signs advertised Chinese take away. We ordered our food, popped into the neighboring grocery store for a drink, and went back to the hotel, eating our food in the lobby while watching some Irish movie that looked vaguely familiar.
Last call for the hotel bar was announced at 11pm which meant our bedtime. We had a long day, a bitter-sweet day ahead of us as it marked the last day of our time in the Isles.
It was our last day in Galway so we enjoyed our continental breakfast, grabbed sandwich fixings for lunch, and lugged our luggage to the meeting spot which when we arrived in Galway was explained to us clear as mud. The French family on our tour beat us to it, the father yelling at us from across the way to get our attention, directing us to the right bus. There we met the four French ladies and headed off.
Clouds, mist, and rain accompanied us as we went through the rugged countryside framed by craggy mountain peaks hidden in fog, through bog fields where peat is harvested for fuel (Remember the campfire in the living room?), and on to our first photo stop at Maam Cross. This stone bridge was made famous in the 1950's John Wayne and Maureen O'Hara film "The Quiet Man".
The rugged mountains seemed to play a child's version of hide and seek with us a
s we drove past, trying to hide behind the fog like a child putting their hands over their eyes, thinking that made them invisible. Their presence was known as we passed through the valley to the village of Leenane for our first break. We parked next to a pub called Gaynor's or The Field Bar, used in the 1990's movie "The Field", filmed locally in Leenane.This village sits in the midst of green hills at the mouth of the Killary Harbour, theorized as Ireland's only fjord, a body of water formed by glaciers. Rows of mussel rafts lay in the Harbour as we drove past, reminding me of lane lines at a swim meet.
Our lunch stop was at Kylemore Abbey, the home of Irish Benedictine nuns and a girls school, is nestled in a mountainous valley that
stands at the edge of a lake surrounded by woodlands. The Abbey was built in 1868 by Michael Henry as a tribute to his late wife, Margaret since she loved the area. I can see why. The white facade of the neo-Gothic stone Abbey seemed to beam in the misty rain and various shades of green trees. It was like staring at a painting but when reaching out to touch the canvas, I grasped raindrops instead. As we stared at the sight, Sandy said she could almost believe there to be 40 shades of green. Just imagine what it looks like when it's sunny!Our tour guide informed us it cost 8 euros to enter the Abbey and gardens which was not included in the tour. I have been traveling for 25 days and by this point, I was tired of spending money. Being that Sandy felt the same way, we both decided not to by a ticket.
Shock and horror came over our tour guide's face at this news, prompting him to say, "You poor girls. Oh dear God." He most likely pictured us wandering about in the rain like wet mice for two hours. We weren't going to die. We decided to enjoy the Abbey from a distance, get some coffee in the cafeteria, and people watch instead. On a day like today, this proved very entertaining. It's here I came to understand the art of umbrella etiquette.
Sandy and I bought our coffees, found a window-side table with a picturesque view of the Abbey, ate our sandwiches, and watched how people handle the rain differently. Many people were not prepared for the elements so it was interesting to see what they did when they realized this.
Some people, mostly guys ignored it. They may or may not have had a hood on their jacket but it didn't matter. They're tough. They're macho. No stinking rain drops of water, no matter if they're drenching their face are going to affect them. They kept smiling and talking as they walked past.
Some tried to protect themselves with what they had. This involved the use of hoodies, briefcases, newspapers, and pulling their jackets up over the heads. Their casual paces quickened when they realized they were getting soaked.
Others fell into the category of "what were you thinking?" I hate to be hard on my sex, but women seemed to dominate this category by dressing like they were going to Hawaii. They may have been on their honeymoon or just wanted to look cute, but come on, ladies. You can look cute and be warm and dry at the same time.
There were a couple guys who were sporting wool sweaters which has the warm issue covered but mixed without having an umbrella - bad combination.
Most people were prepared by having waterproof jackets with hoods or if they weren't, they hustled into the gift shop and bought a glorified trash bag to put over themselves. However, it was those with umbrellas that fascinated me the most.
Each umbrella has its own story with their own designs and colors. Some were sturdy and large, looking like they had the capacity to fit a tribe under them and be flipped upside down to be used as an emergency sailing vessel should a flood emerge.
Others looked like they were used in battle to shield soldiers from cannonballs... and failed. Even though the spokes were showing and the fabric was flapping in the breeze, people still held these weather-beaten umbrellas over them as if the backup invisible water-repellent shield would kick in at any moment. This made me chuckle and feel sorry at the same time.
Regardless of the type of umbrella, there is a proper way to use it for maximum coverage and enjoyment of all, especially when two people are involved. This is known as 'umbrella etiquette'.
We saw many examples as we watched couples walking about mostly putting the responsibility on the guy. Here's what worked:
1. Have the taller person hold the umbrella. This allows the shorter person to not loose blood flow to their arm trying to get the umbrella over the taller person's head. Some guys if they're very tall hunkered down a bit to come close to the lady's height. Otherwise she would be fair game for the rain to attack her. The guys who did this I admit looked a bit funny but from a lady's perspective, was quite thoughtful.
2. Center the umbrella over the both of you, thinking of the person you're covering before yourself. This may seem like common sense, but there were a few couples where the guy was an umbrella hog, leaving the lady uncovered.
3. Walk close together, matching the shorter person's stride. This is key. It's like you're in a three-legged race. You both have to work together to get to the destination dry. It's been noted many guys put their arm around the lady's shoulders or link arms to help achieve this. It can also be quite romantic, making both parties forget that it's even raining!
Many guys forgot this step and ended up high-tailing it to the destination, leaving the lady scrambling behind uncovered. Some guys had their arm around the lady but forgot to match her pace, making it look like he was dragging her to the destination. All the ladies' faces in this scenario showed they were not happy.
Amidst people watching, we noticed the fog slowly engulf the wooded hill behind the Abbey. I could imagine fairies frolicking in the midst of the raindrops, up to no good, most likely the culprits behind the weather-beaten umbrellas. It was a good day to be indoors by a fire, but since there was no fire to be had, we ventured out into the elements, quite impressed with our choice of protective clothing, and headed to the bus for our return trip to Galway. We made a couple of photo stops along the way before we arrived in the city center.
We grabbed our luggage and began walking in the direction of the train station to catch our train to Dublin, even though we weren't quite sure where it was. We noticed the four French ladies and the French family following us like we knew where we were going, making us the unofficial tour guides. Walking with pretend confidence, we found the train station with plenty of time to relax before our departure.
We had never boarded the train without a yellow-jacket tour guide who handled our tickets and seat reservations. This time we were on our own and didn't know what to expect. As our turns approached, I pulled out our yellow travel pack and in an instant, the conductor waived us on.
Our golden tickets had power! Each hotel we stayed at, each train station we went through, we just showed them our yellow packet and BAM! - access granted! We softly sung, "I've got a golden ticket" from the movie "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory" each time we had to use it.
It was dark in Dublin, close to 9:30pm when we arrived at Heuston Rail Station and we had to find our hotel. I thought I had spied it when we were on the Dublin Bus tour so this was our chance to see if I was correct. We lugged our luggage over a bridge lighted green from underneath, the River Liffey below, when we saw our hotel. We pulled out our yellow packet with our golden accommodation ticket, got checked in, and headed out for another new, culinary experience - take away, otherwise known as 'food to go'.
From our hotel we walked in the direction of neon lights which could be good or bad depending on the neighborhood. We decided to chance it and found one of the neon signs advertised Chinese take away. We ordered our food, popped into the neighboring grocery store for a drink, and went back to the hotel, eating our food in the lobby while watching some Irish movie that looked vaguely familiar.
Last call for the hotel bar was announced at 11pm which meant our bedtime. We had a long day, a bitter-sweet day ahead of us as it marked the last day of our time in the Isles.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
When Irish Eyes are Smiling: Inishmore, Galway
We had an abrupt welcome to Galway as Sandy and I were woken up at 5am by several loud voices in the hall of our hotel, progressively getting louder. We lay in our beds eavesdropping, waiting for the dispute to resolve itself. When it didn't, I popped my head out the door and told them to keep it down after which I climbed right back into bed. We had an exciting day planned which no amount of hall yelling was going to dampen. To my surprise, they listened to me or it was my sleepy-eyed, messy hair appearance that startled them into silence.
We were in Galway, part of County Connaught where some of my Irish ancestors originated. Today as we got a chance to explore, I hoped to get a feel of the area in which they lived. Besides that, we found out we're not going to Connemara today as we thought. We were headed to Inishmore, the biggest of the Aran Islands, part of the trip I was especially excited about.
We enjoyed our continental breakfast, grabbed some fixings for our lunch, and headed to our meeting point. It was a smaller group than we had experienced thus far with only 9 people and we welcomed it.
A down-to-earth yellow jacket tour guide met us at the meeting point where we saw the french family and the four french ladies we met yesterday. In an ironic twist, Sandy and I were the only Americans on this tour today. Thinking we were all Americans, our shuttle driver, a local, gentle-spirited, family man had a dim view of this when he found out the rest of the people he was transporting were French. He leaned over to us and said, "So you got stuck with them, eh?" We didn't mind.
The French family, made up of father, mother and daughter were quiet but nice. The daughter just got a job as a French translator at Trinity College in Dublin. The father had a gentle spirit and good sense of humor while the mother was more reserved, probably because she appeared to know the least amount of English. The four French ladies were hysterical, all wives out for five days of girls-only time, only one of them being able to speak English. When we couldn't communicate with words, we spoke with arm gestures or just laughed.
So far there have been a few times on my journey when I have been giddy, when my heart smiled before my eyes and cheeks had a chance to like when I arrived in England and actually realized this wasn't a dream, when I completed the Stanage Edge hike, saw where Jane Austen stayed, or watched the sun set on the Isle of Skye. Today I was again captivated by sacred delight, making these Irish eyes smile as a wonderful surprise was unveiled.
Nine turned out to be a magical number in our group since only nine passengers would fit into the little airplane we were taking for the 7 minute jaunt from Galway to the island of Inishmore. Due to this being a small aircraft, weight was an issue to insure the plane was properly balanced. This meant we all had to be weighed with all our gear. I've heard horror stories where one's weight was displayed in the lobby for all to see but thankfully, they were discrete, logging each person's weight and then assigned us seats.
To my surprise, I got to sit in front with the pilot! Gears and knobs were displayed in front of me. Lights were flashing. A steering wheel mimicked the maneuvers the pilot was making next to me while the foot pedals below me moved as if they had a mind of their own. I was the co-pilot...almost...ok, not really but it felt like it. I turned to one of the other passengers and said, "I'm sorry. This is my first time flying one of these. I didn't realize I'd be the co-pilot today."
As the pilot was revving the engines, I was so tempted to put my hands on the steering wheel moving in front of me but instead I grabbed my camera and clicked away as discreetly as possible. It took everything in me not to squeal with glee and raise my hands with anticipation when we took off. I was just like a kid at an amusement park and this was my Irish roller coaster ride.
It was by far a bumpy 7-minute ride over the water to Inishmore as we approached the landing strip which seemed to lead straight into the water. I watched the horizon bubble on the dashboard battle to be centered, causing the pilot to fly into the wind and the plane look like we were going to miss the landing strip completely. We arrived safely and Sandy and I were excited we had another chance to do this again on the return trip.
Inishmore is an Irish-speaking island with about 900 people where the name translated means 'large island'. We were taken on a tour of the island on a two-lane road wide enough for one vehicle, dodging on-coming cars, bicycles and runners as today a half-marathon was in progress. The island is rocky, very much like the Burren. Our tour guide said it is thought the islands were connected to the Burren at one time and then broke off.
The early inhabitants used their resources well, building rock walls everywhere. Every plot of land had four rock walls 3 - 4 feet high. There were many plots of land. All I saw was hard work, stacking rock on rock, trying to find the right rock for the right space much like a mosaic. A benefit of the rock wall was it would withstand the high gusts of wind that frequently overtook the island since the stacked rocks created gaps for which the wind to blow through.
Since the terrain was all rock, the early inhabitants brought sand and seaweed up from the shore and spread them over the rock to create soil so they could grow grass to feed their cattle and grow potatoes. We saw a plot of land where they still do this today. I thought it was genius!
We stopped at a ruin of a church and a graveyard with old tombstones, some in the Irish language before we stopped for lunch at Dun Aengus, an impressive stone fort. While people lunched, we explored, walking up the treacherous rocky pathway to the top of the cliff. There in all its antiquated glory stood the remains of the stone fort. To the right of the inner stone circle showcased rows of jagged rocks, set at an angle to thwart off an attack. They now look like living art. To the front of us shimmered the Atlantic Ocean and the dramatic, craggy cliffs that separated us from it. It reminded us of the cliffs of moher but they were not as tall and we could actually look over them. You've got it! No barriers here!
Like metal drawn to a magnet, the edge called to me, daring me to look over. Being it was quite windy, I proceeded with much caution, leaning back against the wind and eventually crawling to the edge and looked down and out at the huge watery void. I laid on my stomach, hands and legs sprawled out and I embraced the edge. This was exactly what I wanted to do.
Sandy and I spent all our lunch time here, knowing we could spend a whole day at Dun Aengus and probably an entire week on the island, renting a bicycle to get around. We headed back to the van and popped into some gift shops while we waited for our driver, especially looking at sweaters since the Aran Islands are known for making fabulous sweaters. There aren't many shops and at this time of year it was not crowded at all. Behind us a theatrical set design group was transforming a couple of buildings for a movie called "Leap Year" starring Amy Adams set to be released in 2010.
We headed back to the airport, this time Sandy and I got to sit together in the middle of the plane, both of us having full view of the wheels, especially when they touched back down in Galway. It's a weird sight to see wheels hovering over water.
Our shuttle driver from this morning picked us up and gave us tips on where to eat. When we returned, we dropped our things off at the hotel and headed out to explore Galway.
We came across jewelry stores where one type of ring ruled - the Claddagh ring. Sandy saw our pilot wearing one and desperately wanted to ask him about it, but let him concentrate on his flying. This ring is known for the symbol of a heart with two hands embracing it and a crown on top. It was created in Galway, having deep, romantic significance.
The heart resembles love; the hands resemble friendship; and the crown resembles loyalty. If the ring is worn on the right hand, heart facing out towards the end of the fingertip, it signifies one's heart is open - they are not in a relationship. If the ring has the heart facing towards the body, it signifies the heart is closed - they are in a relationship. If the ring is on the left hand, it signifies they are married.
I can see this ring's significance being similar to that of the purity ring I wear with a minor tweak. I would flip the meanings of the ring on the right hand. The heart facing towards the body would signify one is not in a relationship, meaning the heart is guarded and as a Christian spoken for by Jesus. Too many people today go about love like playing the lottery, frivolously throwing their heart about in hopes they win love. Sometimes they win but their hearts are treated poorly or they strike out, loosing part of their heart altogether. Our hearts were not created to be broken.
The heart facing outwards would signify being in a relationship and therefore open to love. We both bought a claddagh ring as a memento of Galway and our trip together.
It stays light here until 9pm so we enjoyed the sunny weather, wandering around Galway until we got hungry, finally stopping into an Italian restaurant for dinner. We ended up being entertained by two hen parties (bachelorette parties), noticing their themes - one a princess/ glamour theme while the other was cowboys and Indians.
I was fairly tired by this point but Sandy wanted to find a pub with traditional Irish music like we did in Kilarney hopefully with less Americans. Besides, we had yet to try Irish coffee. We found a place advertising live music so we went in not knowing it would be more than music we'd be getting.
Before we could even approach the bar, we were greeted by Jimmy Murphy, a tall, slender, red-haired Irishman full of the gift of gab. We were both taken off guard at first but found him to be hysterically funny and full of opinions. He was visiting Galway as part of a stag party (bachelor party) and quickly began introducing us to the 14 person group. I managed to order our Irish coffees while Jimmy proceeded to tell us Irish coffee was horrible and only tourists drink them. Being we are tourists and hadn't had one before, we wanted to be the judge of that. He was right.
He proceeded to tell us Guinness was horrible, Obama was wonderful, and we both had soft accents like Canadians. He had been to the US a few times and had some observations about Americans, saying we were all super skinny or fat (present party deemed 'normal'), were lazy, and had everything handed to them on a silver platter. There was truth in these words which made it hard to swallow.
He ordered us half-pints of the ale he was drinking which I sipped while talking to the gentleman next to me. Most of the guys in the party were married so I got to hear about their wife and kids and how they met which I enjoyed.
The guys were interested in why we came to Ireland. When I said I had ancestry in County Connaught, Jimmy roared with laughter and had me repeat myself. He nudged his buddy and repeated what I said and how I said it. I said 'Connaught' wrong and got flack for it, but I explained that's why I'm here - it's to learn. He had me repeat the right pronunciation several times.
The pub was getting more and more crowded, making conversations harder to hear. The live music we came for was sporadic and hard to hear above the chatter, but when they did play, Jimmy would raise his glass and sing along.
When we were introduced to a gentleman from Northern Ireland, you could tell there was a slight disdain in Jimmy's voice even though he masked it as a joke. Apparently there's still tension between Northern Ireland and the Republic. We wanted to learn more about this since these guys lived through these tensions, but opted not to.
When I turned around to check on Sandy, she was chatting it up with a few other guys in the party and to my surprise had a full glass of ale when it was almost empty last time I saw her. She said Jimmy bought her another one. "He bought you another one as well," she said, pointing to the full glass on the ledge behind me. One alcoholic beverage was enough for me so I pretended I didn't see it and continued my conversation.
After inquiring if Sandy and I were single, Jimmy asked why, which is always an interesting question to answer. I replied, "I'm holding out for the best." With that he smiled and shook my hand. Sandy told him about the pressure we were receiving to get Irish boyfriends. He dryly responded, "Well, make sure they have jobs because there's few of them nowadays." He is a carpenter who was feeling the hard economic times, only having enough work for three days a week. He's thankful his wife works for an American company and has full benefits.
While being in the midst of a stag party is not my usual idea of a fun evening, it allowed me to hear different Irish accents, stories, opinions, and observe a pub in it's natural environment, not full of Americans.
When Jimmy announced to the group Sandy and I were both single, I took that as our cue to leave. It was late and we had another big day in store for us. I nudged Sandy who after several failed attempts to end her conversations, told them we needed to go. It appears the Irish hang out in pubs into the wee hours of the morning which I did not have the stamina nor the desire to do.
After getting much flack mixed with well wishes, we left and headed back to the hotel for the night, not after seeing a herd of frilly, giggly cowboys and Indians cross the street, headed into another pub.
When Irish eyes are smiling as mine were today, the memories made far outweighed the unwanted adventures the past few days brought forth. While I didn't learn anything specific about my ancestors, I felt I gained a better feel of what life must have been like for them by setting foot where they lived, seeing the terrain in its rugged beauty, and by meeting people like Jimmy Murphy. They are no longer names on paper to me. They are real with their own stories and opinions, people I wish to know better. With that, another scavenger hunt item is crossed off the list.
We were in Galway, part of County Connaught where some of my Irish ancestors originated. Today as we got a chance to explore, I hoped to get a feel of the area in which they lived. Besides that, we found out we're not going to Connemara today as we thought. We were headed to Inishmore, the biggest of the Aran Islands, part of the trip I was especially excited about.
We enjoyed our continental breakfast, grabbed some fixings for our lunch, and headed to our meeting point. It was a smaller group than we had experienced thus far with only 9 people and we welcomed it.
A down-to-earth yellow jacket tour guide met us at the meeting point where we saw the french family and the four french ladies we met yesterday. In an ironic twist, Sandy and I were the only Americans on this tour today. Thinking we were all Americans, our shuttle driver, a local, gentle-spirited, family man had a dim view of this when he found out the rest of the people he was transporting were French. He leaned over to us and said, "So you got stuck with them, eh?" We didn't mind.
The French family, made up of father, mother and daughter were quiet but nice. The daughter just got a job as a French translator at Trinity College in Dublin. The father had a gentle spirit and good sense of humor while the mother was more reserved, probably because she appeared to know the least amount of English. The four French ladies were hysterical, all wives out for five days of girls-only time, only one of them being able to speak English. When we couldn't communicate with words, we spoke with arm gestures or just laughed.
So far there have been a few times on my journey when I have been giddy, when my heart smiled before my eyes and cheeks had a chance to like when I arrived in England and actually realized this wasn't a dream, when I completed the Stanage Edge hike, saw where Jane Austen stayed, or watched the sun set on the Isle of Skye. Today I was again captivated by sacred delight, making these Irish eyes smile as a wonderful surprise was unveiled.
Nine turned out to be a magical number in our group since only nine passengers would fit into the little airplane we were taking for the 7 minute jaunt from Galway to the island of Inishmore. Due to this being a small aircraft, weight was an issue to insure the plane was properly balanced. This meant we all had to be weighed with all our gear. I've heard horror stories where one's weight was displayed in the lobby for all to see but thankfully, they were discrete, logging each person's weight and then assigned us seats.
To my surprise, I got to sit in front with the pilot! Gears and knobs were displayed in front of me. Lights were flashing. A steering wheel mimicked the maneuvers the pilot was making next to me while the foot pedals below me moved as if they had a mind of their own. I was the co-pilot...almost...ok, not really but it felt like it. I turned to one of the other passengers and said, "I'm sorry. This is my first time flying one of these. I didn't realize I'd be the co-pilot today."
As the pilot was revving the engines, I was so tempted to put my hands on the steering wheel moving in front of me but instead I grabbed my camera and clicked away as discreetly as possible. It took everything in me not to squeal with glee and raise my hands with anticipation when we took off. I was just like a kid at an amusement park and this was my Irish roller coaster ride.
It was by far a bumpy 7-minute ride over the water to Inishmore as we approached the landing strip which seemed to lead straight into the water. I watched the horizon bubble on the dashboard battle to be centered, causing the pilot to fly into the wind and the plane look like we were going to miss the landing strip completely. We arrived safely and Sandy and I were excited we had another chance to do this again on the return trip.
Inishmore is an Irish-speaking island with about 900 people where the name translated means 'large island'. We were taken on a tour of the island on a two-lane road wide enough for one vehicle, dodging on-coming cars, bicycles and runners as today a half-marathon was in progress. The island is rocky, very much like the Burren. Our tour guide said it is thought the islands were connected to the Burren at one time and then broke off.
The early inhabitants used their resources well, building rock walls everywhere. Every plot of land had four rock walls 3 - 4 feet high. There were many plots of land. All I saw was hard work, stacking rock on rock, trying to find the right rock for the right space much like a mosaic. A benefit of the rock wall was it would withstand the high gusts of wind that frequently overtook the island since the stacked rocks created gaps for which the wind to blow through.
Since the terrain was all rock, the early inhabitants brought sand and seaweed up from the shore and spread them over the rock to create soil so they could grow grass to feed their cattle and grow potatoes. We saw a plot of land where they still do this today. I thought it was genius!
We stopped at a ruin of a church and a graveyard with old tombstones, some in the Irish language before we stopped for lunch at Dun Aengus, an impressive stone fort. While people lunched, we explored, walking up the treacherous rocky pathway to the top of the cliff. There in all its antiquated glory stood the remains of the stone fort. To the right of the inner stone circle showcased rows of jagged rocks, set at an angle to thwart off an attack. They now look like living art. To the front of us shimmered the Atlantic Ocean and the dramatic, craggy cliffs that separated us from it. It reminded us of the cliffs of moher but they were not as tall and we could actually look over them. You've got it! No barriers here!
Like metal drawn to a magnet, the edge called to me, daring me to look over. Being it was quite windy, I proceeded with much caution, leaning back against the wind and eventually crawling to the edge and looked down and out at the huge watery void. I laid on my stomach, hands and legs sprawled out and I embraced the edge. This was exactly what I wanted to do.
Sandy and I spent all our lunch time here, knowing we could spend a whole day at Dun Aengus and probably an entire week on the island, renting a bicycle to get around. We headed back to the van and popped into some gift shops while we waited for our driver, especially looking at sweaters since the Aran Islands are known for making fabulous sweaters. There aren't many shops and at this time of year it was not crowded at all. Behind us a theatrical set design group was transforming a couple of buildings for a movie called "Leap Year" starring Amy Adams set to be released in 2010.
We headed back to the airport, this time Sandy and I got to sit together in the middle of the plane, both of us having full view of the wheels, especially when they touched back down in Galway. It's a weird sight to see wheels hovering over water.
Our shuttle driver from this morning picked us up and gave us tips on where to eat. When we returned, we dropped our things off at the hotel and headed out to explore Galway.
We came across jewelry stores where one type of ring ruled - the Claddagh ring. Sandy saw our pilot wearing one and desperately wanted to ask him about it, but let him concentrate on his flying. This ring is known for the symbol of a heart with two hands embracing it and a crown on top. It was created in Galway, having deep, romantic significance.
The heart resembles love; the hands resemble friendship; and the crown resembles loyalty. If the ring is worn on the right hand, heart facing out towards the end of the fingertip, it signifies one's heart is open - they are not in a relationship. If the ring has the heart facing towards the body, it signifies the heart is closed - they are in a relationship. If the ring is on the left hand, it signifies they are married.
I can see this ring's significance being similar to that of the purity ring I wear with a minor tweak. I would flip the meanings of the ring on the right hand. The heart facing towards the body would signify one is not in a relationship, meaning the heart is guarded and as a Christian spoken for by Jesus. Too many people today go about love like playing the lottery, frivolously throwing their heart about in hopes they win love. Sometimes they win but their hearts are treated poorly or they strike out, loosing part of their heart altogether. Our hearts were not created to be broken.
The heart facing outwards would signify being in a relationship and therefore open to love. We both bought a claddagh ring as a memento of Galway and our trip together.
It stays light here until 9pm so we enjoyed the sunny weather, wandering around Galway until we got hungry, finally stopping into an Italian restaurant for dinner. We ended up being entertained by two hen parties (bachelorette parties), noticing their themes - one a princess/ glamour theme while the other was cowboys and Indians.
I was fairly tired by this point but Sandy wanted to find a pub with traditional Irish music like we did in Kilarney hopefully with less Americans. Besides, we had yet to try Irish coffee. We found a place advertising live music so we went in not knowing it would be more than music we'd be getting.
Before we could even approach the bar, we were greeted by Jimmy Murphy, a tall, slender, red-haired Irishman full of the gift of gab. We were both taken off guard at first but found him to be hysterically funny and full of opinions. He was visiting Galway as part of a stag party (bachelor party) and quickly began introducing us to the 14 person group. I managed to order our Irish coffees while Jimmy proceeded to tell us Irish coffee was horrible and only tourists drink them. Being we are tourists and hadn't had one before, we wanted to be the judge of that. He was right.
He proceeded to tell us Guinness was horrible, Obama was wonderful, and we both had soft accents like Canadians. He had been to the US a few times and had some observations about Americans, saying we were all super skinny or fat (present party deemed 'normal'), were lazy, and had everything handed to them on a silver platter. There was truth in these words which made it hard to swallow.
He ordered us half-pints of the ale he was drinking which I sipped while talking to the gentleman next to me. Most of the guys in the party were married so I got to hear about their wife and kids and how they met which I enjoyed.
The guys were interested in why we came to Ireland. When I said I had ancestry in County Connaught, Jimmy roared with laughter and had me repeat myself. He nudged his buddy and repeated what I said and how I said it. I said 'Connaught' wrong and got flack for it, but I explained that's why I'm here - it's to learn. He had me repeat the right pronunciation several times.
The pub was getting more and more crowded, making conversations harder to hear. The live music we came for was sporadic and hard to hear above the chatter, but when they did play, Jimmy would raise his glass and sing along.
When we were introduced to a gentleman from Northern Ireland, you could tell there was a slight disdain in Jimmy's voice even though he masked it as a joke. Apparently there's still tension between Northern Ireland and the Republic. We wanted to learn more about this since these guys lived through these tensions, but opted not to.
When I turned around to check on Sandy, she was chatting it up with a few other guys in the party and to my surprise had a full glass of ale when it was almost empty last time I saw her. She said Jimmy bought her another one. "He bought you another one as well," she said, pointing to the full glass on the ledge behind me. One alcoholic beverage was enough for me so I pretended I didn't see it and continued my conversation.
After inquiring if Sandy and I were single, Jimmy asked why, which is always an interesting question to answer. I replied, "I'm holding out for the best." With that he smiled and shook my hand. Sandy told him about the pressure we were receiving to get Irish boyfriends. He dryly responded, "Well, make sure they have jobs because there's few of them nowadays." He is a carpenter who was feeling the hard economic times, only having enough work for three days a week. He's thankful his wife works for an American company and has full benefits.
While being in the midst of a stag party is not my usual idea of a fun evening, it allowed me to hear different Irish accents, stories, opinions, and observe a pub in it's natural environment, not full of Americans.
When Jimmy announced to the group Sandy and I were both single, I took that as our cue to leave. It was late and we had another big day in store for us. I nudged Sandy who after several failed attempts to end her conversations, told them we needed to go. It appears the Irish hang out in pubs into the wee hours of the morning which I did not have the stamina nor the desire to do.
After getting much flack mixed with well wishes, we left and headed back to the hotel for the night, not after seeing a herd of frilly, giggly cowboys and Indians cross the street, headed into another pub.
When Irish eyes are smiling as mine were today, the memories made far outweighed the unwanted adventures the past few days brought forth. While I didn't learn anything specific about my ancestors, I felt I gained a better feel of what life must have been like for them by setting foot where they lived, seeing the terrain in its rugged beauty, and by meeting people like Jimmy Murphy. They are no longer names on paper to me. They are real with their own stories and opinions, people I wish to know better. With that, another scavenger hunt item is crossed off the list.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Lost in Translation: Bunratty Castle, Cliffs of Moher, The Burren
It was one of those days that seemed to be lost in translation, like when you're watching a movie and there's a few second delay between the action on screen and the words being said. It becomes a whole other movie than I'm sure the director intended, usually morphing into a comedy or a cult classic destined to be revered by fans for generations to come, like the Rocky Horror Picture Show. For us, it all started with fake cheese.
We had an early start this morning at 7am to eat our breakfast and then catch our bus, taking us to the Limerick Bus Station. So far on our Ireland journey, we have not had a full Irish breakfast which consists of eggs, rashers (meaty bacon much like our ham), bangers (sausages), baked beans, a grilled or fried tomato, soda bread, and black and white pudding. This breakfast, also known as a 'heart attack on a plate' is similar to the breakfasts in Scotland and Ireland but there were two things we had not tried - black and white pudding.
We purposefully had not tried black pudding because it is congealed pig's blood taking the shape of a sausage patty. However, we were a bit curious about the white pudding and have not been offered it yet. When we found out it is congealed pork fat, we thought perhaps it was a good thing we hadn't tried it. Regardless, we're all about having hot, protein-packed breakfasts but sadly, today was not that day.
Since we had to leave early, our b&b hostess made us a continental breakfast consisting of soda bread (yum!), cereal, yogurt, cold meats, and fake American cheese. We looked at the fake cheese glistening from its refrigerator dew in the florescent light of the breakfast room, trying to coax us as if with a nervous half smile, knowing its fate. There was no way we were going to eat it. I felt bad that this cheese was associated with my nationality when we had experienced gourmet cheeses from the Isles. It was as if all the American stereotypes we were witnessing had conglomerated into a physical, yellow form on our plates. We had to draw the line.
The sound of the small coach prompted us to wheel our luggage out into the rain and find two remaining seats where we were joined by a few other tour members going on the trip to Limerick.
As we inquired after everyone's prior evening's activities, an American single lady spoke up.
"I had the oddest evening. I went to a pub for dinner and I was approached by a man asking if I wanted an Irish boyfriend." My jaw about hit the floor.
"So was I!" I exclaimed.
The whole bus roared with laughter as we tried to figure out if it was the same man making the rounds. Poor chap. It was a tough couple nights for him since we both turned him down.
The laughter had given us a good start to the morning but tiredness soon overpowered Sandy and I causing us to fall asleep, making the hour trip to Limerick pass like a blink of an eye. We were joining a larger bus where a group of day-trippers from Dublin would be arriving shortly. Since we had arrived first, our coach driver wanted us to get the best seats, but we couldn't find the bus driver to let us in the large bus.
While our coach driver searched for the other driver, we searched the train station for the restrooms. Upon our return, we saw him - a yellow jacket tour guide and a long line of duckling like day trippers following him, all heading for the tour bus. It was as if the music began to play in a game of musical bus chairs and there was only one seat left. Our eyes narrowed; our jaws clenched. It was game time.
Walking with purpose, I grabbed my luggage and zig-zagged my way through the rain and the maze of day trippers to the side of the bus, throwing my luggage in. But Sandy's bag still lay in the road. Where's Sandy?! It was as if her motionless, rain-dampened bag was yelling to me, "Save your self! Get good seats while you can!" I was torn but my commitment to the sisterhood couldn't abandon her or her bag. I went back to grab it when I saw Sandy. She got her luggage loaded but it was too late. The line had formed and we were at the back of it, getting seats at the back of the bus.
Our yellow jacket tour guide was an older gentleman from Donegal with a fine Irish accent who was a stickler with time and the itinerary. We found this comical when as we were on our way to Bunratty Castle he announced we had gained two people who weren't supposed to be on this tour. This led to us collectively being asked to take out our itineraries and answer the question, "Where are you going?" The two culprits were identified who unfortunately got on the wrong tour bus. Arrangements were made to send them to their destination.
Bunratty Castle is a simple, imposing stone fortress re-purposed to host medieval banquets for tourists in the evenings and showcase medieval decor from all over Europe. Our group w
aited in line at the castle entrance along side a group of school children on a field trip, both groups waiting for our tickets. While looking at the group of school children, I had a moment of clarity as if the audio of the movie finally synced up with the picture on the screen. I was on a field trip except I paid for it. I looked at both groups and the interesting thing is, they were both acting pretty much the same which added to the humor of the day's incidences.
Once inside, our group was informed of the castle's history by a castle tour guide and then let loose to explore the castle towers, grounds, and dungeon. It was then we discovered we had been given a castle map in French.
We continued to roam the castle without the use of the map, climbing up and down the narrow, spiral staircases to the top of the towers but finding there was two-way foot traffic when the stairway was wide enough for only one way. It caused a bit of a jam as the castle continued to welcome more and more tourists, becoming too crowded for my tastes.
We headed outside to visit some of the colorfully painted mock fishing houses in the village, getting to experience the power of peat, a soil-like material burned as a source of fuel. It was like having a campfire in your living room. The house and our lungs filled with the aroma, motivating us to take a quick tour around the two-room house before embracing the outdoors. The smoke clung to our nostrils and clothes throughout the day. Some whiskey distilleries use peat in their distilling process, giving the whiskey a potent, smokey aroma. Peat packs a punch, one that can knock you out if you're not ready for it.
We wiggled our way to the back of the bus where we headed to the little village of Doolin for our lunch stop at O'Connell's Pub. On the way, our yellow-jacket tour guide introduced us to each village we passed in this manner:
"Here is the village of _____. It has two pubs, a bank, and a church. One pub just closed though."
It was the same story for each village we passed. One village had only 25 people in it. We were amazed they had a pub. It would be like inviting family over for dinner and drinks! It was interesting to learn some villages have their own set of colors that identify them, usually displayed on their houses. We drove through one village where all their houses were painted yellow.
We reached O'Connell's Pub in Doolin where good food and fast service ruled, surprising us they could handle our tour group and another one arriving after us! I ate my Irish Stew and we got out of there as the other tour group arrived, giving us time to wander up the main street to see the dramatic, craggy shoreline. After a silly and crazy morning, this view fed our souls. The rain had stopped and the clouds parted, revealing a beautiful blue sky which showcased a waterfall, crashing waves and the ocean spray tousled by the salty sea air. We could have stayed here all day, but we hoped this was just a taste of what was in store for us later today at the Cliffs of Moher.
Seeing the brake lights of our tour bus light up, we headed back with a purposeful walk, not too concerned about being left because people were still boarding. I went to step into the bus when the door squished me. I was quite startled. Maybe the bus driver didn't see me. The doors opened again so I stepped again into the bus. Again, the door closed on me. What the heck?! Maybe there's something wrong with the door. Sandy tried this time, getting her leg squashed. We both gave up and stood there, looking at each other then at the door with our tour guide and the bus driver in sight.
After a few moments of experiencing an uneventful bus door, we tried boarding the bus again, this time being successful but not without a wee bit of commentary from the bus driver. "That was a friendly warning. Next time, the bus will leave." We ended up being 4 minutes late, the last to board the bus, and were squashed because of it.
So far, none of the tours I've been on have left anyone who arrived late. I had a bus driver hide the bus from me but being squashed was a first. We shimmied our way back to our seats, chuckling in semi-shock at this odd experience with our bizarro bus driver, Sandy and I both thinking, "We need to keep an eye on this one."
Arriving at the Cliffs of Moher reset my focus on why I was here, even though I gave a watchful eye to the bus driver as I got off the bus. Before us stood the craggy cliffs, 702 feet high and approximately 5 miles long. Mesmerized, we stared at them, encrusted with various forms of plants, bird specks flying about, and the crashing waves trying to be noticed at the base of this natural rock fortress.
We could have spent all day here as there are plenty of trails around the cliffs to enjoy each vantage point, but our yellow-jacket tour guide broke the spell the cliffs had cast on us, whisking the group in another direction as he spouted different facts. Sandy and I hung back watching the group disappear into the distance. We wanted to enjoy this. Besides, I had a scavenger hunt item to complete, to look over the cliffs of moher and I wasn't about to loose my focus now.
We headed in the direction of the group, stopping every few feet to take multiple pictures as if this would somehow capture its beauty. Just then, our tour guide spotted us, whisking us away to see the view of the Aran Islands, where we're headed tomorrow. We appeased him while looking for the perfect spot to complete my scavenger hunt item.
It appears the park people frown on people looking over the cliffs because there was a wall all along them, making my scavenger hunt item a bit harder to accomplish. Our tour guide says suicide jumping has been a problem in the past so it appears they're taking precautions. Regardless, I was able to perch myself on a piece of wall to complete this scavenger hunt item.
We made our way back to the bus, making sure we were not last for fear of a bus door squashing. This title went to a couple who was 15 minutes late because they got the report back time mixed up. They were not squashed. I'm not bitter (yeah right!).
This blip in the itinerary made for a fast trip through the Burren, Galway Bay, and the rest of the scheduled photo stops, allowing us 10 minutes at each one. Sandy and I joked that it would take us that long to get off the bus!
Among our stops, the Burren stood out to me, being a complete contrast to the rest of lush greenness we had experienced thus far. It's a 155 square mile rocky expanse in County Clare where plant life from tropical and arctic regions are found nestled in its crevices, baffling scientists and those that wander it. I had time to spot one purple/ blue flower before it was time to get back on the bus.
It had started to rain again as drove past Galway Bay and into the city center where Sandy and I would remain for two nights. We got off the bus just in time to strap on our backpacks and grab our gear before high-tailing it after our yellow-jacket tour guide who was walking with immense purpose, spouting off directions to us about our meeting spots for tomorrow.
"Those that are going to Connemara meet over there."
"Where?" I asked searching behind me.
"Over there where the man is," he said pointing as he kept walking.
"Which man? There are two men over there," Sandy interjected.
The french family in our group looked at us then the tour guide as if they were a spectator at a tennis match. We made the tour guide stop and clarify our meeting spot. It was as clear as mud but we at least had an idea.
Sandy and I were still discussing this issue when we noticed our tour guide had broken free from the pack, on a mission to show those of us who were staying where our hotel was before he and the rest of the tour group had to catch their train. He had one advantage on us - he didn't have luggage.
Sandy and I were bobbing and weaving through the maze of people on the sidewalk, trying not to run over any toes or knock anyone down with our luggage as we began to sprint after our tour guide, backpacks swaying with every step. He pointed out where the meeting spot was for those going to the Aran Islands but we missed that as we were trying to cross the street before light turned red.
By this point, we wanted him to point us in the direction of the hotel and we'd find it ourselves. We were frazzled and tired and now were playing tour guide to the french family also staying at our hotel who was desperately trying to comprehend what just happened. We saw the hotel and the tour guide was off to catch his train. We all got checked in. Sandy and I grabbed some dinner at a fast food super store called Supermacs, both of us glad to call it a night.
Today was quite comical and at times frustrating as is the case when dealing with people, often times the messages getting lost in translation. However, as Shakespeare said, "What was lost can be found if sought." Nature's beauty and sheer power were not lost in the midst of today's chaos. It communicated to us clearly beyond words through experiences that made a long-lasting imprint on our hearts.
We had an early start this morning at 7am to eat our breakfast and then catch our bus, taking us to the Limerick Bus Station. So far on our Ireland journey, we have not had a full Irish breakfast which consists of eggs, rashers (meaty bacon much like our ham), bangers (sausages), baked beans, a grilled or fried tomato, soda bread, and black and white pudding. This breakfast, also known as a 'heart attack on a plate' is similar to the breakfasts in Scotland and Ireland but there were two things we had not tried - black and white pudding.
We purposefully had not tried black pudding because it is congealed pig's blood taking the shape of a sausage patty. However, we were a bit curious about the white pudding and have not been offered it yet. When we found out it is congealed pork fat, we thought perhaps it was a good thing we hadn't tried it. Regardless, we're all about having hot, protein-packed breakfasts but sadly, today was not that day.
Since we had to leave early, our b&b hostess made us a continental breakfast consisting of soda bread (yum!), cereal, yogurt, cold meats, and fake American cheese. We looked at the fake cheese glistening from its refrigerator dew in the florescent light of the breakfast room, trying to coax us as if with a nervous half smile, knowing its fate. There was no way we were going to eat it. I felt bad that this cheese was associated with my nationality when we had experienced gourmet cheeses from the Isles. It was as if all the American stereotypes we were witnessing had conglomerated into a physical, yellow form on our plates. We had to draw the line.
The sound of the small coach prompted us to wheel our luggage out into the rain and find two remaining seats where we were joined by a few other tour members going on the trip to Limerick.
As we inquired after everyone's prior evening's activities, an American single lady spoke up.
"I had the oddest evening. I went to a pub for dinner and I was approached by a man asking if I wanted an Irish boyfriend." My jaw about hit the floor.
"So was I!" I exclaimed.
The whole bus roared with laughter as we tried to figure out if it was the same man making the rounds. Poor chap. It was a tough couple nights for him since we both turned him down.
The laughter had given us a good start to the morning but tiredness soon overpowered Sandy and I causing us to fall asleep, making the hour trip to Limerick pass like a blink of an eye. We were joining a larger bus where a group of day-trippers from Dublin would be arriving shortly. Since we had arrived first, our coach driver wanted us to get the best seats, but we couldn't find the bus driver to let us in the large bus.
While our coach driver searched for the other driver, we searched the train station for the restrooms. Upon our return, we saw him - a yellow jacket tour guide and a long line of duckling like day trippers following him, all heading for the tour bus. It was as if the music began to play in a game of musical bus chairs and there was only one seat left. Our eyes narrowed; our jaws clenched. It was game time.
Walking with purpose, I grabbed my luggage and zig-zagged my way through the rain and the maze of day trippers to the side of the bus, throwing my luggage in. But Sandy's bag still lay in the road. Where's Sandy?! It was as if her motionless, rain-dampened bag was yelling to me, "Save your self! Get good seats while you can!" I was torn but my commitment to the sisterhood couldn't abandon her or her bag. I went back to grab it when I saw Sandy. She got her luggage loaded but it was too late. The line had formed and we were at the back of it, getting seats at the back of the bus.
Our yellow jacket tour guide was an older gentleman from Donegal with a fine Irish accent who was a stickler with time and the itinerary. We found this comical when as we were on our way to Bunratty Castle he announced we had gained two people who weren't supposed to be on this tour. This led to us collectively being asked to take out our itineraries and answer the question, "Where are you going?" The two culprits were identified who unfortunately got on the wrong tour bus. Arrangements were made to send them to their destination.
Bunratty Castle is a simple, imposing stone fortress re-purposed to host medieval banquets for tourists in the evenings and showcase medieval decor from all over Europe. Our group w
aited in line at the castle entrance along side a group of school children on a field trip, both groups waiting for our tickets. While looking at the group of school children, I had a moment of clarity as if the audio of the movie finally synced up with the picture on the screen. I was on a field trip except I paid for it. I looked at both groups and the interesting thing is, they were both acting pretty much the same which added to the humor of the day's incidences.Once inside, our group was informed of the castle's history by a castle tour guide and then let loose to explore the castle towers, grounds, and dungeon. It was then we discovered we had been given a castle map in French.
We continued to roam the castle without the use of the map, climbing up and down the narrow, spiral staircases to the top of the towers but finding there was two-way foot traffic when the stairway was wide enough for only one way. It caused a bit of a jam as the castle continued to welcome more and more tourists, becoming too crowded for my tastes.
We headed outside to visit some of the colorfully painted mock fishing houses in the village, getting to experience the power of peat, a soil-like material burned as a source of fuel. It was like having a campfire in your living room. The house and our lungs filled with the aroma, motivating us to take a quick tour around the two-room house before embracing the outdoors. The smoke clung to our nostrils and clothes throughout the day. Some whiskey distilleries use peat in their distilling process, giving the whiskey a potent, smokey aroma. Peat packs a punch, one that can knock you out if you're not ready for it.
We wiggled our way to the back of the bus where we headed to the little village of Doolin for our lunch stop at O'Connell's Pub. On the way, our yellow-jacket tour guide introduced us to each village we passed in this manner:
"Here is the village of _____. It has two pubs, a bank, and a church. One pub just closed though."
It was the same story for each village we passed. One village had only 25 people in it. We were amazed they had a pub. It would be like inviting family over for dinner and drinks! It was interesting to learn some villages have their own set of colors that identify them, usually displayed on their houses. We drove through one village where all their houses were painted yellow.
We reached O'Connell's Pub in Doolin where good food and fast service ruled, surprising us they could handle our tour group and another one arriving after us! I ate my Irish Stew and we got out of there as the other tour group arrived, giving us time to wander up the main street to see the dramatic, craggy shoreline. After a silly and crazy morning, this view fed our souls. The rain had stopped and the clouds parted, revealing a beautiful blue sky which showcased a waterfall, crashing waves and the ocean spray tousled by the salty sea air. We could have stayed here all day, but we hoped this was just a taste of what was in store for us later today at the Cliffs of Moher.
Seeing the brake lights of our tour bus light up, we headed back with a purposeful walk, not too concerned about being left because people were still boarding. I went to step into the bus when the door squished me. I was quite startled. Maybe the bus driver didn't see me. The doors opened again so I stepped again into the bus. Again, the door closed on me. What the heck?! Maybe there's something wrong with the door. Sandy tried this time, getting her leg squashed. We both gave up and stood there, looking at each other then at the door with our tour guide and the bus driver in sight.
After a few moments of experiencing an uneventful bus door, we tried boarding the bus again, this time being successful but not without a wee bit of commentary from the bus driver. "That was a friendly warning. Next time, the bus will leave." We ended up being 4 minutes late, the last to board the bus, and were squashed because of it.
So far, none of the tours I've been on have left anyone who arrived late. I had a bus driver hide the bus from me but being squashed was a first. We shimmied our way back to our seats, chuckling in semi-shock at this odd experience with our bizarro bus driver, Sandy and I both thinking, "We need to keep an eye on this one."
Arriving at the Cliffs of Moher reset my focus on why I was here, even though I gave a watchful eye to the bus driver as I got off the bus. Before us stood the craggy cliffs, 702 feet high and approximately 5 miles long. Mesmerized, we stared at them, encrusted with various forms of plants, bird specks flying about, and the crashing waves trying to be noticed at the base of this natural rock fortress.
We could have spent all day here as there are plenty of trails around the cliffs to enjoy each vantage point, but our yellow-jacket tour guide broke the spell the cliffs had cast on us, whisking the group in another direction as he spouted different facts. Sandy and I hung back watching the group disappear into the distance. We wanted to enjoy this. Besides, I had a scavenger hunt item to complete, to look over the cliffs of moher and I wasn't about to loose my focus now.
We headed in the direction of the group, stopping every few feet to take multiple pictures as if this would somehow capture its beauty. Just then, our tour guide spotted us, whisking us away to see the view of the Aran Islands, where we're headed tomorrow. We appeased him while looking for the perfect spot to complete my scavenger hunt item.
It appears the park people frown on people looking over the cliffs because there was a wall all along them, making my scavenger hunt item a bit harder to accomplish. Our tour guide says suicide jumping has been a problem in the past so it appears they're taking precautions. Regardless, I was able to perch myself on a piece of wall to complete this scavenger hunt item.
We made our way back to the bus, making sure we were not last for fear of a bus door squashing. This title went to a couple who was 15 minutes late because they got the report back time mixed up. They were not squashed. I'm not bitter (yeah right!).
This blip in the itinerary made for a fast trip through the Burren, Galway Bay, and the rest of the scheduled photo stops, allowing us 10 minutes at each one. Sandy and I joked that it would take us that long to get off the bus!
Among our stops, the Burren stood out to me, being a complete contrast to the rest of lush greenness we had experienced thus far. It's a 155 square mile rocky expanse in County Clare where plant life from tropical and arctic regions are found nestled in its crevices, baffling scientists and those that wander it. I had time to spot one purple/ blue flower before it was time to get back on the bus.
It had started to rain again as drove past Galway Bay and into the city center where Sandy and I would remain for two nights. We got off the bus just in time to strap on our backpacks and grab our gear before high-tailing it after our yellow-jacket tour guide who was walking with immense purpose, spouting off directions to us about our meeting spots for tomorrow.
"Those that are going to Connemara meet over there."
"Where?" I asked searching behind me.
"Over there where the man is," he said pointing as he kept walking.
"Which man? There are two men over there," Sandy interjected.
The french family in our group looked at us then the tour guide as if they were a spectator at a tennis match. We made the tour guide stop and clarify our meeting spot. It was as clear as mud but we at least had an idea.
Sandy and I were still discussing this issue when we noticed our tour guide had broken free from the pack, on a mission to show those of us who were staying where our hotel was before he and the rest of the tour group had to catch their train. He had one advantage on us - he didn't have luggage.
Sandy and I were bobbing and weaving through the maze of people on the sidewalk, trying not to run over any toes or knock anyone down with our luggage as we began to sprint after our tour guide, backpacks swaying with every step. He pointed out where the meeting spot was for those going to the Aran Islands but we missed that as we were trying to cross the street before light turned red.
By this point, we wanted him to point us in the direction of the hotel and we'd find it ourselves. We were frazzled and tired and now were playing tour guide to the french family also staying at our hotel who was desperately trying to comprehend what just happened. We saw the hotel and the tour guide was off to catch his train. We all got checked in. Sandy and I grabbed some dinner at a fast food super store called Supermacs, both of us glad to call it a night.
Today was quite comical and at times frustrating as is the case when dealing with people, often times the messages getting lost in translation. However, as Shakespeare said, "What was lost can be found if sought." Nature's beauty and sheer power were not lost in the midst of today's chaos. It communicated to us clearly beyond words through experiences that made a long-lasting imprint on our hearts.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
The Emigration of Innocence: Ring of Kerry
Yesterday's time at the Queenstown Story Museum became personal as it introduced me to the hardships the Irish went through during the mass emigration. Today, I found there's much more that left the shores in the mass Irish emigration than just the people, something which continues to personally impact us all.
The journey with our American counterparts continued as we met up with a day tour group to see the ring of Kerry. On this trip thus far, we had been spoiled in past tours by having small mini-coaches. Yesterday gave us a reality check on just how the rest of the tour world lives when we joined up with a large tour bus.
When we saw that today we'd be in another large tour bus without our yellow-jacketed tour guide, we weren't as shocked and promptly found two seats with good window views because the ring of Kerry is all about the view. The difference with this tour bus was Bo, the driver's black lab dog. Bo was his master's dog being the first to get off the bus and the last to come on, making sure all the humans were accounted for.
We didn't know which side to be on for the best view and sat on the left. Since we were touring the ring counterclockwise, we should have sat on the right. Thankfully the bus was not full so we could slide between seats when needed. There was one guy who took full advantage of our extra space, going back and forth between seats clicking the camera as if it were a machine gun, trying to capture anything and everything in hopes of getting something. After almost a month of travel, I was beginning to feel like this, trying to savor each moment as my time here is coming to an end.
The ring of Kerry is full of rolling green hills, cute villages, dots of sheep, and mountains with brown, rocky landscape much like the Scottish Highlands. I was surprised to see so much brown as my Irish stereotype and the song suggest there to be 40 shades of green. So far, I have seen maybe five but am still on the lookout.
We went through the village of Killorglin where every August the locals capture a wild goat from the mountains and crown it King Puck. For three days they put the goat in a cage high up and there it will reign over the village in an event called the Puck Fair. No one is sure how or when the fair came about. Some say it pays tribute to a wild goat who warned the village of Oliver Cromwell's advancing armies. Others say it comes from the pagan Celtic festival Lughnasa as a celebration of a good harvest. The goat may represent the pagan god, Pan. Regardless, it gives over 100,000 people a year a reason to drink, dance, attend livestock fairs, and did I say drink?
We stopped for lunch in the coastal village of Waterville where Charlie Chaplin frequently vacationed. During our lunch breaks we often use the time to explore the area then grab something small to eat on the bus. After a bit of enjoying the cool, sea air, we headed to the village in search of a coffee shop. Walking past many colorfully painted storefronts, we found a coffee shop advertising homemade goodies, so we popped in.
It was just like having tea at a friend's house decorated mismatched tables and chairs, an assortment of china tea pots, homemade goodies on the small counter, and local memorabilia adorning the wood walls. The hilariously funny shop owner, Peter, was a jovial, quick-witted gentleman bald with rosy cheeks, a grand smile and sparkling blue eyes that brimmed with secrets and overflowed with stories. We were privileged to hear them as we enjoyed our coffee and split our two desserts.
Peter grew up in the neighboring small village where the fear of God ruled. People were so afraid to do anything for fear it was a sin. Having fun seemed to be a sin, especially sex which wasn't talked about. It just happened to 'happened' when one was married and then it 'happened' quite often as was evident by the large families. Peter was innocent and fairly ignorant of how it 'happened' except for what he observed from his family's livestock, so when he emigrated to Germany at 16, he was in for quite an education.
He observed the German people were much freer with their sexuality so he figured he could ask them some questions that had been on his mind. So one day, he bluntly asked them of a woman. In a moment of shock and horror she educated him about the art of courting and refinement, sparing him the slap across the face any other bloke would have received if they asked such questions because she saw he was speaking out of innocence. There was a struggle going on inside him where eventually the fear of God was overpowered by those of his heart and innocence was lost.
He went on to say there is a loss of innocence in today's people. They're freer and are losing their fear of God. Many churches, especially in small villages are dying due to lack of funding which interpreted means lack of attendance.
Sandy and I continued to enjoy our goodies as I pondered his comments. His observations are not just that of Ireland or this small village, but of our society as a whole. It's like there are two extremes: one where people are afraid of God and in turn are afraid to live and the other where people completely disregard Him with the mentality "I've already sinned so I might as well do it up right." We're missing the point.
There has been an emigration of innocence. The innocence our society shuns to distant lands doesn't give us more freedom. It ignorantly opens us up to unnecessary heartbreak. Innocence contains the purity intended to guard our hearts, allowing us to experience life and God's best as He intended it, yet it has been interpreted as ignorance.
I can see how these two words came to be synonyms. Back in those days, people were told to believe in God and not ask questions, to have an ignorant faith formed out of fear. Yet the Bible encourages us to have a relationship with God, to seek Him, ask questions, invite Him to work in our life and in turn, have an innocent, child-like faith formed out of trust that God is who He says He is and will do what He promises to do, having our best interests in mind.
Sandy and I finished our desserts and lattes while Peter talked of his inability to gain weight due to his fast metabolism, much a like a chickens. We unfortunately don't have this 'problem' but figured the additional walking we've been doing will help balance it out. I told of my Dad who had the same 'problem' when he was in his 20's, being able to eat three Thanksgiving dinners and not gain an ounce. That was until he married my Mom. With her good cooking, he gained 20 pounds. Peter determined that was his problem since he didn't marry.
We saw it was time to meet the bus, so we quickly paid our bill and hustled back, greeting Bo on our return. We stopped at Coomakista Pass which gave us a beautiful view of Iveragh Peninsula, pushing into Kenmare Bay, Hogshead, Ballinskelligs Bay, and the remains of a stone ringfort. All the women and children would go into the center of the ringfort for protection when the village was being attacked.
We made a short stop in the village of Sneem and then at Torc Falls. By this time it had began to lightly rain so it was such a treat to get out of the bus and walk to this waterfall under the cover of trees bearing so many shades of green. I could have stayed here much longer than our stop allowed. Our last stop was at a vista called Ladies View in honor of a visit by Queen Victoria. A little church was built in her honor but now stands empty. I thought it was interesting a church was built in honor of one person's visit, even if she was the Queen.
We were dropped back off at the city center where we perused more shops, visiting Mary in her sweater shop just in time to help an American Dad and son team choose sweaters that looked good and fit them well. We found one of the pubs Mary had recommended yesterday for dinner and tried a roast and to our surprise found they had sticky toffee pudding! We of course had to try it, determining it was a close second to the one we had in Glasgow. Glasgow had two things we liked: the Glasgow Cathedral and sticky toffee pudding. I also tried Bulmers, a light Irish Cider which I liked much better than the bitter-tasting Guinness. A taxi driver told us some people put a drop of black currant in their Guinness to cut down on the bitterness.
We walked back to our b&b in the rain and spent the rest of the evening re-packing for our trip to Galway. Our bags seemed to magically expand at our request surprising us both, but the weight of them definitely does not lie.
We were impressed with Killarney even though it is a tourist destination full of our American counterparts. We met people like Mary and Peter whose stories and sense of humor were the highlights of our time here, giving us a taste of life through their Irish eyes. It was just what we were looking for.
The journey with our American counterparts continued as we met up with a day tour group to see the ring of Kerry. On this trip thus far, we had been spoiled in past tours by having small mini-coaches. Yesterday gave us a reality check on just how the rest of the tour world lives when we joined up with a large tour bus.
When we saw that today we'd be in another large tour bus without our yellow-jacketed tour guide, we weren't as shocked and promptly found two seats with good window views because the ring of Kerry is all about the view. The difference with this tour bus was Bo, the driver's black lab dog. Bo was his master's dog being the first to get off the bus and the last to come on, making sure all the humans were accounted for.
We didn't know which side to be on for the best view and sat on the left. Since we were touring the ring counterclockwise, we should have sat on the right. Thankfully the bus was not full so we could slide between seats when needed. There was one guy who took full advantage of our extra space, going back and forth between seats clicking the camera as if it were a machine gun, trying to capture anything and everything in hopes of getting something. After almost a month of travel, I was beginning to feel like this, trying to savor each moment as my time here is coming to an end.
The ring of Kerry is full of rolling green hills, cute villages, dots of sheep, and mountains with brown, rocky landscape much like the Scottish Highlands. I was surprised to see so much brown as my Irish stereotype and the song suggest there to be 40 shades of green. So far, I have seen maybe five but am still on the lookout.
We went through the village of Killorglin where every August the locals capture a wild goat from the mountains and crown it King Puck. For three days they put the goat in a cage high up and there it will reign over the village in an event called the Puck Fair. No one is sure how or when the fair came about. Some say it pays tribute to a wild goat who warned the village of Oliver Cromwell's advancing armies. Others say it comes from the pagan Celtic festival Lughnasa as a celebration of a good harvest. The goat may represent the pagan god, Pan. Regardless, it gives over 100,000 people a year a reason to drink, dance, attend livestock fairs, and did I say drink?
We stopped for lunch in the coastal village of Waterville where Charlie Chaplin frequently vacationed. During our lunch breaks we often use the time to explore the area then grab something small to eat on the bus. After a bit of enjoying the cool, sea air, we headed to the village in search of a coffee shop. Walking past many colorfully painted storefronts, we found a coffee shop advertising homemade goodies, so we popped in.
It was just like having tea at a friend's house decorated mismatched tables and chairs, an assortment of china tea pots, homemade goodies on the small counter, and local memorabilia adorning the wood walls. The hilariously funny shop owner, Peter, was a jovial, quick-witted gentleman bald with rosy cheeks, a grand smile and sparkling blue eyes that brimmed with secrets and overflowed with stories. We were privileged to hear them as we enjoyed our coffee and split our two desserts.
Peter grew up in the neighboring small village where the fear of God ruled. People were so afraid to do anything for fear it was a sin. Having fun seemed to be a sin, especially sex which wasn't talked about. It just happened to 'happened' when one was married and then it 'happened' quite often as was evident by the large families. Peter was innocent and fairly ignorant of how it 'happened' except for what he observed from his family's livestock, so when he emigrated to Germany at 16, he was in for quite an education.
He observed the German people were much freer with their sexuality so he figured he could ask them some questions that had been on his mind. So one day, he bluntly asked them of a woman. In a moment of shock and horror she educated him about the art of courting and refinement, sparing him the slap across the face any other bloke would have received if they asked such questions because she saw he was speaking out of innocence. There was a struggle going on inside him where eventually the fear of God was overpowered by those of his heart and innocence was lost.
He went on to say there is a loss of innocence in today's people. They're freer and are losing their fear of God. Many churches, especially in small villages are dying due to lack of funding which interpreted means lack of attendance.
Sandy and I continued to enjoy our goodies as I pondered his comments. His observations are not just that of Ireland or this small village, but of our society as a whole. It's like there are two extremes: one where people are afraid of God and in turn are afraid to live and the other where people completely disregard Him with the mentality "I've already sinned so I might as well do it up right." We're missing the point.
There has been an emigration of innocence. The innocence our society shuns to distant lands doesn't give us more freedom. It ignorantly opens us up to unnecessary heartbreak. Innocence contains the purity intended to guard our hearts, allowing us to experience life and God's best as He intended it, yet it has been interpreted as ignorance.
I can see how these two words came to be synonyms. Back in those days, people were told to believe in God and not ask questions, to have an ignorant faith formed out of fear. Yet the Bible encourages us to have a relationship with God, to seek Him, ask questions, invite Him to work in our life and in turn, have an innocent, child-like faith formed out of trust that God is who He says He is and will do what He promises to do, having our best interests in mind.
Sandy and I finished our desserts and lattes while Peter talked of his inability to gain weight due to his fast metabolism, much a like a chickens. We unfortunately don't have this 'problem' but figured the additional walking we've been doing will help balance it out. I told of my Dad who had the same 'problem' when he was in his 20's, being able to eat three Thanksgiving dinners and not gain an ounce. That was until he married my Mom. With her good cooking, he gained 20 pounds. Peter determined that was his problem since he didn't marry.
We saw it was time to meet the bus, so we quickly paid our bill and hustled back, greeting Bo on our return. We stopped at Coomakista Pass which gave us a beautiful view of Iveragh Peninsula, pushing into Kenmare Bay, Hogshead, Ballinskelligs Bay, and the remains of a stone ringfort. All the women and children would go into the center of the ringfort for protection when the village was being attacked.
We made a short stop in the village of Sneem and then at Torc Falls. By this time it had began to lightly rain so it was such a treat to get out of the bus and walk to this waterfall under the cover of trees bearing so many shades of green. I could have stayed here much longer than our stop allowed. Our last stop was at a vista called Ladies View in honor of a visit by Queen Victoria. A little church was built in her honor but now stands empty. I thought it was interesting a church was built in honor of one person's visit, even if she was the Queen.
We were dropped back off at the city center where we perused more shops, visiting Mary in her sweater shop just in time to help an American Dad and son team choose sweaters that looked good and fit them well. We found one of the pubs Mary had recommended yesterday for dinner and tried a roast and to our surprise found they had sticky toffee pudding! We of course had to try it, determining it was a close second to the one we had in Glasgow. Glasgow had two things we liked: the Glasgow Cathedral and sticky toffee pudding. I also tried Bulmers, a light Irish Cider which I liked much better than the bitter-tasting Guinness. A taxi driver told us some people put a drop of black currant in their Guinness to cut down on the bitterness.
We walked back to our b&b in the rain and spent the rest of the evening re-packing for our trip to Galway. Our bags seemed to magically expand at our request surprising us both, but the weight of them definitely does not lie.
We were impressed with Killarney even though it is a tourist destination full of our American counterparts. We met people like Mary and Peter whose stories and sense of humor were the highlights of our time here, giving us a taste of life through their Irish eyes. It was just what we were looking for.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
The Value of a Good Sense of Humor: Blarney Castle, Cobh, Killarney
When I travel, I look to step into someone else's shoes, experience life through their eyes so I can appreciate life's view from several vantage points, not just my own. This was our goal as Sandy and I set out to explore Ireland. With any new experience, there's always a chance you won't like it or the shoe doesn't fit properly or it happens to fit too well. It's then the real adventure begins.
Sandy and I dragged ourselves out of our cushy beds and packed up for our 6am taxi, taking us to Heuston Rail station. We were meeting our Railtours group to start our six-day tour of Ireland. I admit, it was hard to leave the nice confines of our castle hotel. It's been a dream of mine to stay in a castle so I was excited we were able to do so even if it didn't have a turret. Since a castle in my mind has a turret and I've always wanted to sleep in a turret room, I will keep this item on my life's scavenger hunt list for my next castle hotel opportunity.
It was a beautifully clear, crisp day to be up so early, with the sun just beginning to illuminate the sky, waking Dublin's inhabitants. We found our railtours guides dressed in bright, yellow jackets and proceeded to check in, receiving our trip's itinerary, hotel vouchers, and train tickets. We felt like little ducklings following their mom as we followed the yellow-jacketed tour guides two by two to our reserved car on the train as if we were participating in the buddy-system.
The interesting thing about the buddy system is it's supposed to help you not get lost, but it does nothing if your tour guides forget you. This was our observation as the landscape zipping by changed from buildings to rolling, green hills, with more dots of sheep. The yellow-jacketed tour guides were walking up and down the train car aisles talking with the other tour group members when one of them approached us, clipboard in hand.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"We're on the six-day Ireland adventure tour," Sandy replied.
"Yes, but where are you going today?", the tour guide persisted.
Perplexed, Sandy and I looked at each other. Shouldn't they know where we're going?
I reached into my coat of many pockets and grabbed our yellow tour packet. "Well, let me check the itinerary you gave me this morning. We're going to Cork."
We were told we would be with the other tour guide. He wrote something on his clipboard and asked the same question to another tour participant. Apparently there were multiple railtour groups travelling together.
A few minutes later, the other tour guide approached us, making us think she was going to welcome us to her tour group. Instead we were asked, "Where are you going?"
Sandy and I looked at each other, our thoughts in unison. Are you serious? The other tour guide just asked us that question. Instead of dividing the group in two and just asking one side the question and conferring with each other afterwards, you're both asking everyone the same question twice which is setting an ominous tone for our six day adventure.
Confidently I said as I gave her our itinerary, "We're going to Cork." Satisfied, she told us we were in her group, giving us further instructions. She wrote something on her clip board and proceeded to ask the same question to another tour participant.
Sandy and I looked at each other with raised eyebrows and open mouths that began to laugh. Both of us being organizational queens, we concocted many more efficient ways they could have handled this situation to make life easier for them and to not instill fear in their tour participants, all ideas involving the use of color coding and funny hats.
Our attention was diverted when the trolley came through our aisle with goodies and the most important item we were interested in - coffee. An older gentleman approached the trolley, asking for two coffees, noticeably American by his Midwestern accent and red Ohio Buckeyes sweatshirt. When the trolley attendant missed what he asked for, he began repeating himself slower and louder. Sandy and I cringed. We are in an English-speaking country. The trolley attendant did speak English and wasn't deaf.
This interaction characterized the rest of our day as our tour group consisted of mostly older, Midwest, down-to-earth, flag in their yard Americans that fit the American stereotype perfectly. They were dear, sweet people that would do anything for you, but it wasn't the interaction we were looking for. The shoe fit too well. We wanted to embrace Ireland not our country people. It was as if we never left home and were celebrating St. Patty's Day at a relative's house while keeping an eye on that one eccentric relative roaming about that's known to get themselves into embarrassing situations.
The train was preparing to make a stop at a station when we heard our tour guide talk to a couple sitting in front of us. Apparently they were part of a day tour that had joined us for this part of the journey and were seeing another part of the country. She told them this was their stop and their connecting train was just across the way, pointing at it through the window. The couple looked at each other and then her with semi-horror.
When you join a tour, it's a common expectation to assume your tour guide will accompany you on all parts of your journey. Normally, that's why people book tours, so they have a guide with them. This couple didn't know the tour guide would not be doing this. We didn't know that was an option either. Like little birds preparing for their first flight out of the nest, they left the train with the directional nudgings of the tour guide booting them out. Sandy and I looked at each other and both said, "We'll need to keep an eye on this one."
We arrived in Cork and took a bus to our first stop - Blarney Castle. This castle contains the Blarney Stone which if kissed is supposed to give you the gift of gab. The rugged stone structure of the castle protruding from the rolling green hills, meandering brook, and surrounding flower beds with a hint of rain in the air was welcomed after much travel. It was fun to overhear the comments of passerbyers mentally preparing to walk the 120 steep, narrow, spiral tower steps to the stone. People were much shorter with smaller sized feet than today so it was an effort to go up.
The stairways were purposefully designed to be narrow and spiral to the right as a defense because the warriors were right-handed. When they went to use their sword, it would hit the wall making it hard to fight and get up the stairs. (I would have been their secret weapon being I'm left-handed.) The castle warriors coming down the stairs would have a much easier time using their swords on the attackers as the staircase would flow in the direction of their sword.
Making our way to the top, we were greeted with gusts of wind, a beautiful view, and a wee line to kiss the stone. It's interesting the power a stone placed in an awkward position with a promise of a gift brings grown people up amazing heights and down to their knees. Millions of people have knelt and kissed this stone, high-powered officials, presidents, leaders, young and old alike. I watched tough-looking bikers dressed in leathers and elderly ladies kneel before it. If I kissed the stone, it would be like I kissed each of these people including everyone on our tour bus which wasn't a pretty picture. Besides, there's still the legend out there that locals pee on the stone which I wasn't able to have confirmed or denied.
Mental images flashed through my mind as I pondered this. I opted to not kiss the stone but Sandy went for it. She said she felt a tingling sensation in her lips. We hope it's the gift of gab and not something else manifesting itself.
We proceeded to Cobh (pronounced Cove) where we stopped at St. Colman's Cathedral, a grand piece of architecture overlooking Cobh harbor. Cobh used to be called Queenstown to commemorate a visit by Queen Victoria but the name was restored to Cobh when Ireland became a free state. Elementary school boys in class were singing while we walked through the cathedral adding a sweet innocence to the atmosphere. As we were leaving, a sweet older lady stopped Sandy and I to give us a medal with Mary on it, saying it had been blessed and all we needed to do was to pray to her and all would be well. The printed information she gave us claimed Mary was born without sin which unfortunately is not biblical. Mary, the mother of Jesus was a wonderful woman of faith but was human and imperfect just like us all. I would have liked to talk with her a bit more but our yellow coat tour guide was heading out the door and we did not want to be left behind.
A few minutes away we stopped at the Queenstown Story Museum. It's a fascinating museum detailing the mass Irish emigration caused by the potato famine and the lack of assistance from England. It told of what they went through, the horrid conditions they lived in, and eventually the evolution of the emigration ships to our modern day cruise vessels. There were some ships called "Coffin Ships" because so many people would die during the voyages to Australia, the US, or Canada.
Sadness came over me as I envisioned my Irish ancestors living through these conditions as they made their way to the US and Canada. With Scotland's highland clearances and Ireland's mass emigration, the population was reduced drastically. Some areas are still recovering. In the midst of such hard times, they still found sparks of joy, danced, smiled and tried their best to see the silver lining when it was often pitch black with despair. There's a statue of Annie Moore and her two brothers commemorating the first people to emigrate from Cobh, Ireland and be received at Ellis Island in New York.
We waited by this statue for our tour guide ready to get on the bus for our next destination, only to find out we needed to get our luggage and head for the train. As the group deciphered the mixed communication, we grabbed our luggage and got back on the train, this time without the yellow-jacket tour guide who was headed back to Dublin with the rest of the group while a choice few headed to Killarney for the rest of our tour.
Our B&B hostess picked us up at the Killarney train station and in constant soft rain, dropped us all off at our respective accommodations. We were supposed to have an ensuite room and were told this was the case. However upon arriving, we found the bathroom happened to be down the hall that supposedly no one used. Ensuite means the bathroom is attached to your room, not that there's one somewhere in the house. It didn't matter that much to Sandy and I since we were only going to be there a couple of days but we found it funny.
We were told it rains twice a week in Ireland - the first for three days and another for four days. Due to the rain, our hostess dropped us off in the town center where we were given a tip for dinner and live Irish music.
It was quiet as we meandered up and down the main street looking at shops that were open. Unfortunately most were closed, but we did stumble upon a sweater shop with a feisty, high spirited shop attendant, Mary, who told us great stories. We spent a good majority of the evening in this store trying on sweaters, telling stories with Mary and another American lady of knitting, hard times, and the need to cherish each moment as we gave our honest opinions of what sweaters actually looked good on each other.
Mary gave us a recommendation for a couple of good pubs for dinner so we headed off, but couldn't find them so we ended up at Danny Mann's pub, recommended for their live Irish music. I tried Cottage Pie which was yummy but to our utter dismay found out the pub was packed with Americans who when given the opportunity requested the Irish folk band to play American-known songs throughout the night. The kicker was when they played "This Land is Your Land." Sandy and I both yelled in the midst of the jovial clamouring, "You're kidding me!" It was just wrong.
We did like the band so Sandy went to talk with them for a few moments which turned into about a half-hour. While I was enjoying my coffee, an older Irish man approached me, asking me where I was from. Wow. I must be that obvious that I'm a tourist.
"I'm from California," I politely responded.
"Did you and your friend leave your boyfriends at home?" he said above the pub chatter.
Being we don't have boyfriends I replied, "Oh, this is like a girl's weekend."
"Do you have an Irish boyfriend?"
I laughed saying, "I just got here! Give me some time!"
"Do you think it will happen?"
"No, because I'm only here for a few more days." With that, he left and I chuckled. What's up with Americans and Irish boyfriends?
We stayed around to listen to a few more songs from the band while our fellow American tourists stood in the walkway blocking our view, unaware of our existence before we began our walk back to our B&B in the rain.
Today was definitely not what we expected as the shoe of our American tour participants gave us a vantage point too close to home. We were able to see the stereotypes Americans give themselves when they travel abroad, making us more aware of our actions. We decided an attitude change was in order for us both and looked at the situation with a sense of humor, electing to embrace each moment we're given. The true adventure lies not in what we expect, but in embracing the unexpected. It's only then we rise to a vantage point that's life-changing.
Sandy and I dragged ourselves out of our cushy beds and packed up for our 6am taxi, taking us to Heuston Rail station. We were meeting our Railtours group to start our six-day tour of Ireland. I admit, it was hard to leave the nice confines of our castle hotel. It's been a dream of mine to stay in a castle so I was excited we were able to do so even if it didn't have a turret. Since a castle in my mind has a turret and I've always wanted to sleep in a turret room, I will keep this item on my life's scavenger hunt list for my next castle hotel opportunity.
It was a beautifully clear, crisp day to be up so early, with the sun just beginning to illuminate the sky, waking Dublin's inhabitants. We found our railtours guides dressed in bright, yellow jackets and proceeded to check in, receiving our trip's itinerary, hotel vouchers, and train tickets. We felt like little ducklings following their mom as we followed the yellow-jacketed tour guides two by two to our reserved car on the train as if we were participating in the buddy-system.
The interesting thing about the buddy system is it's supposed to help you not get lost, but it does nothing if your tour guides forget you. This was our observation as the landscape zipping by changed from buildings to rolling, green hills, with more dots of sheep. The yellow-jacketed tour guides were walking up and down the train car aisles talking with the other tour group members when one of them approached us, clipboard in hand.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"We're on the six-day Ireland adventure tour," Sandy replied.
"Yes, but where are you going today?", the tour guide persisted.
Perplexed, Sandy and I looked at each other. Shouldn't they know where we're going?
I reached into my coat of many pockets and grabbed our yellow tour packet. "Well, let me check the itinerary you gave me this morning. We're going to Cork."
We were told we would be with the other tour guide. He wrote something on his clipboard and asked the same question to another tour participant. Apparently there were multiple railtour groups travelling together.
A few minutes later, the other tour guide approached us, making us think she was going to welcome us to her tour group. Instead we were asked, "Where are you going?"
Sandy and I looked at each other, our thoughts in unison. Are you serious? The other tour guide just asked us that question. Instead of dividing the group in two and just asking one side the question and conferring with each other afterwards, you're both asking everyone the same question twice which is setting an ominous tone for our six day adventure.
Confidently I said as I gave her our itinerary, "We're going to Cork." Satisfied, she told us we were in her group, giving us further instructions. She wrote something on her clip board and proceeded to ask the same question to another tour participant.
Sandy and I looked at each other with raised eyebrows and open mouths that began to laugh. Both of us being organizational queens, we concocted many more efficient ways they could have handled this situation to make life easier for them and to not instill fear in their tour participants, all ideas involving the use of color coding and funny hats.
Our attention was diverted when the trolley came through our aisle with goodies and the most important item we were interested in - coffee. An older gentleman approached the trolley, asking for two coffees, noticeably American by his Midwestern accent and red Ohio Buckeyes sweatshirt. When the trolley attendant missed what he asked for, he began repeating himself slower and louder. Sandy and I cringed. We are in an English-speaking country. The trolley attendant did speak English and wasn't deaf.
This interaction characterized the rest of our day as our tour group consisted of mostly older, Midwest, down-to-earth, flag in their yard Americans that fit the American stereotype perfectly. They were dear, sweet people that would do anything for you, but it wasn't the interaction we were looking for. The shoe fit too well. We wanted to embrace Ireland not our country people. It was as if we never left home and were celebrating St. Patty's Day at a relative's house while keeping an eye on that one eccentric relative roaming about that's known to get themselves into embarrassing situations.
The train was preparing to make a stop at a station when we heard our tour guide talk to a couple sitting in front of us. Apparently they were part of a day tour that had joined us for this part of the journey and were seeing another part of the country. She told them this was their stop and their connecting train was just across the way, pointing at it through the window. The couple looked at each other and then her with semi-horror.
When you join a tour, it's a common expectation to assume your tour guide will accompany you on all parts of your journey. Normally, that's why people book tours, so they have a guide with them. This couple didn't know the tour guide would not be doing this. We didn't know that was an option either. Like little birds preparing for their first flight out of the nest, they left the train with the directional nudgings of the tour guide booting them out. Sandy and I looked at each other and both said, "We'll need to keep an eye on this one."
We arrived in Cork and took a bus to our first stop - Blarney Castle. This castle contains the Blarney Stone which if kissed is supposed to give you the gift of gab. The rugged stone structure of the castle protruding from the rolling green hills, meandering brook, and surrounding flower beds with a hint of rain in the air was welcomed after much travel. It was fun to overhear the comments of passerbyers mentally preparing to walk the 120 steep, narrow, spiral tower steps to the stone. People were much shorter with smaller sized feet than today so it was an effort to go up.The stairways were purposefully designed to be narrow and spiral to the right as a defense because the warriors were right-handed. When they went to use their sword, it would hit the wall making it hard to fight and get up the stairs. (I would have been their secret weapon being I'm left-handed.) The castle warriors coming down the stairs would have a much easier time using their swords on the attackers as the staircase would flow in the direction of their sword.
Making our way to the top, we were greeted with gusts of wind, a beautiful view, and a wee line to kiss the stone. It's interesting the power a stone placed in an awkward position with a promise of a gift brings grown people up amazing heights and down to their knees. Millions of people have knelt and kissed this stone, high-powered officials, presidents, leaders, young and old alike. I watched tough-looking bikers dressed in leathers and elderly ladies kneel before it. If I kissed the stone, it would be like I kissed each of these people including everyone on our tour bus which wasn't a pretty picture. Besides, there's still the legend out there that locals pee on the stone which I wasn't able to have confirmed or denied.
Mental images flashed through my mind as I pondered this. I opted to not kiss the stone but Sandy went for it. She said she felt a tingling sensation in her lips. We hope it's the gift of gab and not something else manifesting itself.
We proceeded to Cobh (pronounced Cove) where we stopped at St. Colman's Cathedral, a grand piece of architecture overlooking Cobh harbor. Cobh used to be called Queenstown to commemorate a visit by Queen Victoria but the name was restored to Cobh when Ireland became a free state. Elementary school boys in class were singing while we walked through the cathedral adding a sweet innocence to the atmosphere. As we were leaving, a sweet older lady stopped Sandy and I to give us a medal with Mary on it, saying it had been blessed and all we needed to do was to pray to her and all would be well. The printed information she gave us claimed Mary was born without sin which unfortunately is not biblical. Mary, the mother of Jesus was a wonderful woman of faith but was human and imperfect just like us all. I would have liked to talk with her a bit more but our yellow coat tour guide was heading out the door and we did not want to be left behind.
A few minutes away we stopped at the Queenstown Story Museum. It's a fascinating museum detailing the mass Irish emigration caused by the potato famine and the lack of assistance from England. It told of what they went through, the horrid conditions they lived in, and eventually the evolution of the emigration ships to our modern day cruise vessels. There were some ships called "Coffin Ships" because so many people would die during the voyages to Australia, the US, or Canada.
Sadness came over me as I envisioned my Irish ancestors living through these conditions as they made their way to the US and Canada. With Scotland's highland clearances and Ireland's mass emigration, the population was reduced drastically. Some areas are still recovering. In the midst of such hard times, they still found sparks of joy, danced, smiled and tried their best to see the silver lining when it was often pitch black with despair. There's a statue of Annie Moore and her two brothers commemorating the first people to emigrate from Cobh, Ireland and be received at Ellis Island in New York.
We waited by this statue for our tour guide ready to get on the bus for our next destination, only to find out we needed to get our luggage and head for the train. As the group deciphered the mixed communication, we grabbed our luggage and got back on the train, this time without the yellow-jacket tour guide who was headed back to Dublin with the rest of the group while a choice few headed to Killarney for the rest of our tour.
Our B&B hostess picked us up at the Killarney train station and in constant soft rain, dropped us all off at our respective accommodations. We were supposed to have an ensuite room and were told this was the case. However upon arriving, we found the bathroom happened to be down the hall that supposedly no one used. Ensuite means the bathroom is attached to your room, not that there's one somewhere in the house. It didn't matter that much to Sandy and I since we were only going to be there a couple of days but we found it funny.
We were told it rains twice a week in Ireland - the first for three days and another for four days. Due to the rain, our hostess dropped us off in the town center where we were given a tip for dinner and live Irish music.
It was quiet as we meandered up and down the main street looking at shops that were open. Unfortunately most were closed, but we did stumble upon a sweater shop with a feisty, high spirited shop attendant, Mary, who told us great stories. We spent a good majority of the evening in this store trying on sweaters, telling stories with Mary and another American lady of knitting, hard times, and the need to cherish each moment as we gave our honest opinions of what sweaters actually looked good on each other.
Mary gave us a recommendation for a couple of good pubs for dinner so we headed off, but couldn't find them so we ended up at Danny Mann's pub, recommended for their live Irish music. I tried Cottage Pie which was yummy but to our utter dismay found out the pub was packed with Americans who when given the opportunity requested the Irish folk band to play American-known songs throughout the night. The kicker was when they played "This Land is Your Land." Sandy and I both yelled in the midst of the jovial clamouring, "You're kidding me!" It was just wrong.
We did like the band so Sandy went to talk with them for a few moments which turned into about a half-hour. While I was enjoying my coffee, an older Irish man approached me, asking me where I was from. Wow. I must be that obvious that I'm a tourist.
"I'm from California," I politely responded.
"Did you and your friend leave your boyfriends at home?" he said above the pub chatter.
Being we don't have boyfriends I replied, "Oh, this is like a girl's weekend."
"Do you have an Irish boyfriend?"
I laughed saying, "I just got here! Give me some time!"
"Do you think it will happen?"
"No, because I'm only here for a few more days." With that, he left and I chuckled. What's up with Americans and Irish boyfriends?
We stayed around to listen to a few more songs from the band while our fellow American tourists stood in the walkway blocking our view, unaware of our existence before we began our walk back to our B&B in the rain.
Today was definitely not what we expected as the shoe of our American tour participants gave us a vantage point too close to home. We were able to see the stereotypes Americans give themselves when they travel abroad, making us more aware of our actions. We decided an attitude change was in order for us both and looked at the situation with a sense of humor, electing to embrace each moment we're given. The true adventure lies not in what we expect, but in embracing the unexpected. It's only then we rise to a vantage point that's life-changing.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Husband Hunting: Arriving in Dublin, Ireland
Apparently it is a wide belief or sheer fantasy that women meet their future husbands while on vacation, especially in the Isles. Perhaps it’s the influence of Hollywood on our culture like in the movie P.S. I Love You or the fascination we Americans have with their accents. Regardless, Sandy and I have both received warnings from friends and family to not come home with a husband. Over here, it is encouraged.
Sandy and I had an early start today, catching our flight from Glasgow to Dublin, Ireland. It seemed like good weather followed us wherever we went, bringing the California sun with us to make for abnormally nice weather for these areas, so when we awakened to rain, we took it like the skies knew we were leaving. Hopefully it would send the good weather to Dublin.
Being coffee-less this morning, we grabbed Starbucks in the airport, only a 2-minute walk from our hotel. This went against every fiber of Sandy’s being because we can get Starbucks at home, but desperate as we were, she gave into the temptation. I was completely happy and make a game out of spotting all the Starbuck we see. They really are everywhere!
We had about a half hour before our flight as we headed for the security checkpoint, coffee in hand when we saw they wouldn’t let us take our coffee with us. Do we miss the plane or ditch perfectly good lattes? We looked at each other then the security gate, then our coffee. It was as if we were holding the elixir of life and were being asked to give it up bringing certain death or in our case sleepy-eyed fogginess upon ourselves. We compromised and had a hot coffee-gulping contest, eating our banana and croissant that we took from the hotel earlier that morning to help absorb the fast amount of hot liquid entering our bodies.
The short flight brought with it clear, sunny skies and an interesting customs experience. When I went through customs in England, I got the 3rd degree from the official not just asking the normal questions of where I was going, why I was visiting, the length of my trip, but additionally was asked if I was employed full-time and why I was traveling alone. I think they were paranoid of foreigners stealing their jobs.
In Dublin, the questions were of a more personal nature. After asking the normal questions, he asked if I had any Scotchmen with me. Being in a serious mode, I was taken off guard then quickly replied, “No, I couldn’t fit them in my carry on.” Seeming pleased with my answer, he asked, “When you and your friend are in a pub and you see a guy you like, do you have a secret word or sign to let the other one know?” Sandy and I had not discussed this because we don’t go home with strange men whether foreign or domestic nor do we break the bonds of sisterhood by leaving each other alone so I made something up. “We give each other a look.” He smiled, stamped my passport and told me I’d have to give this look a lot while in Ireland.
We had enough on our minds without the pressure of trying to find Irish husbands, as everyone seemed to suggest. We needed to find the rail tours office to get our Dublin tour tickets and find our hotel. We looked to board the airport bus to take us to Connolly rail station which was right across the street from the rail tours office but the driver kept telling us we needed to take the other bus. I think he was new because the sign clearly stated the contrary. After a few minutes of waiting we boarded anyway.
We found the rail tours office and got our city tour tickets. First, we wanted to drop off our luggage at our hotel, which wasn’t your ordinary hotel – it was a castle hotel. We were staying in a castle and were quite excited but didn’t know how to get there using public transportation. We asked the rail tours lady and by a miraculous provision, she also worked at this castle hotel, telling us the bus to take.
The sun greeted us with blue skies as we walked through the grounds of the Clontarf Castle Hotel weighed down by our slowing growing luggage. It was a wonderful sight to see the fortress-like stone structure as we turned the corner of the grassy landscape. The castle was built in 1172, rebuilt in 1837, and was turned into a four-star hotel in 1998. With modern elegance and rooms added on to the castle structure, we entered the sliding glass doors and walked through the main castle structure, which was now the lobby, passing armored statues and saluting flags, giving the interior a medieval feel. The bellman led us through the maze of hallways to our modernly decorated room where we both collapsed onto our beds, allowing the comforters to embrace us with a warm welcome. We couldn’t stay long because we wanted to catch the Dublin city tour before it ended for the day.
We headed out again, lighter without the weight of our luggage. As if reading our thoughts, a kind local man pointed us in the direction of the bus stop to get us to the city center in the shortest amount of time. Perhaps it was faster, but not today. A few minutes into the journey, the bus driver pulled over to make a scheduled stop and then the sound of the engine went silent. We waited a few minutes. The people on the bus started to look around. We heard the bus driver on the radio say, “I’ve got a dead bus.” He eventually came up to us on the top deck and told us the engine died and he radioed for another bus to pick us up. We all got out of the bus and got on the next one towards the city center. This was now the 2nd bus that had died on me during this trip.
Once in the city center, we hopped off only to hop on the city tour bus, which took us around to 23 sites of the city. Since we only had a few hours left to see the city, we had time to see a couple of sites in depth, the Guinness Storehouse being the first stop we made.
For those that don’t know, the Guinness Storehouse produces the most famous beer in Ireland bringing millions of visitors a year to see how this elixir is made. I’m sure the free pint in their top floor, glass walled bar is a bit of an incentive as well. Being that I’m not a beer drinker and have never tried Guinness before, I find it interesting that I can now tell you how this beer is made. The self-guided tour spread over seven floors is designed quite well making it educational and entertaining. I found the display of the early marketing interesting, with a famous tagline being “Guinness is good for you.” Early on, doctors would prescribe Guinness to patients to help cure such ailments such as depression, insomnia, and influenza. There is a scientific study out there looking at this statement’s validity. I did not know that the Guinness Book of World Records was created by this company starting from a conversation about which bird is the fastest in the world. The owners found other similar conversations were happening in pubs and BAM! – the Guinness Book of World Records was born. We worked through each floor, making our way to the top where we saw amazing views of Dublin’s skyline and completed another scavenger hunt item, posing with a pint.
Sandy and I had just received our pints when they notified all that they were closing. We went to a lower floor, sat, chatted, and people watched while we slowly drank our pints. I found it to be a thick beer much like soup with a bitter taste. I hear it’s an acquired taste, which I have not acquired. I did think it’s a pretty presentation of white foam contrasting with the dark base of the liquid. It has to rest, settle before the final drops are added to fill the glass, making people’s anticipation grow even more so when it’s finally presented to them, they feel like they a kid at Christmas.
We hopped back on the city tour bus, staying on it until they kicked us off, then made our way through the city to our second place of interest, St. Stephen’s Green. It’s a beautiful park much like St. James Park in London, full of grassy hills, gazebos, flowers and meandering paths. We found a bench and sat for a while, enjoyed a muffin and watching the people walking past. On such a day like today with the sun beginning to set and the air with just a slight chill, I could see it would provide the perfect romantic ambiance to the end of a lovely date.
We stayed until the park closed and then caught a bus back to the castle hotel, walking part of the way back, looking across the street at the harbor with its grass-lined footpaths. It reminded us so much of Florida we almost forgot we were in Dublin! Since we only had one night in this castle hotel, we wanted to make the most of it, so we had dinner in their lounge, ordering Irish Stew and Fish and Chips, which we shared. Both were excellent. The place was hopping so we ended up eating at the bar, having friendly banter with the bartender.
Excited to snuggle up in our cushy beds, we headed to our room to prep for an early day as our six-day rail tour of Ireland begins. Dublin provided a wonderful welcome into Ireland. We would have liked to have more time in Dublin and definitely will include it as a place to come back to in the future. While no husbands were found today, I have a feeling this won’t be the last we hear on this subject if the rest of our stay is anything like today. I’ll keep you posted but until then, be on the look out for “the look.”
Sandy and I had an early start today, catching our flight from Glasgow to Dublin, Ireland. It seemed like good weather followed us wherever we went, bringing the California sun with us to make for abnormally nice weather for these areas, so when we awakened to rain, we took it like the skies knew we were leaving. Hopefully it would send the good weather to Dublin.
Being coffee-less this morning, we grabbed Starbucks in the airport, only a 2-minute walk from our hotel. This went against every fiber of Sandy’s being because we can get Starbucks at home, but desperate as we were, she gave into the temptation. I was completely happy and make a game out of spotting all the Starbuck we see. They really are everywhere!
We had about a half hour before our flight as we headed for the security checkpoint, coffee in hand when we saw they wouldn’t let us take our coffee with us. Do we miss the plane or ditch perfectly good lattes? We looked at each other then the security gate, then our coffee. It was as if we were holding the elixir of life and were being asked to give it up bringing certain death or in our case sleepy-eyed fogginess upon ourselves. We compromised and had a hot coffee-gulping contest, eating our banana and croissant that we took from the hotel earlier that morning to help absorb the fast amount of hot liquid entering our bodies.
The short flight brought with it clear, sunny skies and an interesting customs experience. When I went through customs in England, I got the 3rd degree from the official not just asking the normal questions of where I was going, why I was visiting, the length of my trip, but additionally was asked if I was employed full-time and why I was traveling alone. I think they were paranoid of foreigners stealing their jobs.
In Dublin, the questions were of a more personal nature. After asking the normal questions, he asked if I had any Scotchmen with me. Being in a serious mode, I was taken off guard then quickly replied, “No, I couldn’t fit them in my carry on.” Seeming pleased with my answer, he asked, “When you and your friend are in a pub and you see a guy you like, do you have a secret word or sign to let the other one know?” Sandy and I had not discussed this because we don’t go home with strange men whether foreign or domestic nor do we break the bonds of sisterhood by leaving each other alone so I made something up. “We give each other a look.” He smiled, stamped my passport and told me I’d have to give this look a lot while in Ireland.
We had enough on our minds without the pressure of trying to find Irish husbands, as everyone seemed to suggest. We needed to find the rail tours office to get our Dublin tour tickets and find our hotel. We looked to board the airport bus to take us to Connolly rail station which was right across the street from the rail tours office but the driver kept telling us we needed to take the other bus. I think he was new because the sign clearly stated the contrary. After a few minutes of waiting we boarded anyway.
We found the rail tours office and got our city tour tickets. First, we wanted to drop off our luggage at our hotel, which wasn’t your ordinary hotel – it was a castle hotel. We were staying in a castle and were quite excited but didn’t know how to get there using public transportation. We asked the rail tours lady and by a miraculous provision, she also worked at this castle hotel, telling us the bus to take.
The sun greeted us with blue skies as we walked through the grounds of the Clontarf Castle Hotel weighed down by our slowing growing luggage. It was a wonderful sight to see the fortress-like stone structure as we turned the corner of the grassy landscape. The castle was built in 1172, rebuilt in 1837, and was turned into a four-star hotel in 1998. With modern elegance and rooms added on to the castle structure, we entered the sliding glass doors and walked through the main castle structure, which was now the lobby, passing armored statues and saluting flags, giving the interior a medieval feel. The bellman led us through the maze of hallways to our modernly decorated room where we both collapsed onto our beds, allowing the comforters to embrace us with a warm welcome. We couldn’t stay long because we wanted to catch the Dublin city tour before it ended for the day.
We headed out again, lighter without the weight of our luggage. As if reading our thoughts, a kind local man pointed us in the direction of the bus stop to get us to the city center in the shortest amount of time. Perhaps it was faster, but not today. A few minutes into the journey, the bus driver pulled over to make a scheduled stop and then the sound of the engine went silent. We waited a few minutes. The people on the bus started to look around. We heard the bus driver on the radio say, “I’ve got a dead bus.” He eventually came up to us on the top deck and told us the engine died and he radioed for another bus to pick us up. We all got out of the bus and got on the next one towards the city center. This was now the 2nd bus that had died on me during this trip.
Once in the city center, we hopped off only to hop on the city tour bus, which took us around to 23 sites of the city. Since we only had a few hours left to see the city, we had time to see a couple of sites in depth, the Guinness Storehouse being the first stop we made.
For those that don’t know, the Guinness Storehouse produces the most famous beer in Ireland bringing millions of visitors a year to see how this elixir is made. I’m sure the free pint in their top floor, glass walled bar is a bit of an incentive as well. Being that I’m not a beer drinker and have never tried Guinness before, I find it interesting that I can now tell you how this beer is made. The self-guided tour spread over seven floors is designed quite well making it educational and entertaining. I found the display of the early marketing interesting, with a famous tagline being “Guinness is good for you.” Early on, doctors would prescribe Guinness to patients to help cure such ailments such as depression, insomnia, and influenza. There is a scientific study out there looking at this statement’s validity. I did not know that the Guinness Book of World Records was created by this company starting from a conversation about which bird is the fastest in the world. The owners found other similar conversations were happening in pubs and BAM! – the Guinness Book of World Records was born. We worked through each floor, making our way to the top where we saw amazing views of Dublin’s skyline and completed another scavenger hunt item, posing with a pint.
Sandy and I had just received our pints when they notified all that they were closing. We went to a lower floor, sat, chatted, and people watched while we slowly drank our pints. I found it to be a thick beer much like soup with a bitter taste. I hear it’s an acquired taste, which I have not acquired. I did think it’s a pretty presentation of white foam contrasting with the dark base of the liquid. It has to rest, settle before the final drops are added to fill the glass, making people’s anticipation grow even more so when it’s finally presented to them, they feel like they a kid at Christmas.
We hopped back on the city tour bus, staying on it until they kicked us off, then made our way through the city to our second place of interest, St. Stephen’s Green. It’s a beautiful park much like St. James Park in London, full of grassy hills, gazebos, flowers and meandering paths. We found a bench and sat for a while, enjoyed a muffin and watching the people walking past. On such a day like today with the sun beginning to set and the air with just a slight chill, I could see it would provide the perfect romantic ambiance to the end of a lovely date.
We stayed until the park closed and then caught a bus back to the castle hotel, walking part of the way back, looking across the street at the harbor with its grass-lined footpaths. It reminded us so much of Florida we almost forgot we were in Dublin! Since we only had one night in this castle hotel, we wanted to make the most of it, so we had dinner in their lounge, ordering Irish Stew and Fish and Chips, which we shared. Both were excellent. The place was hopping so we ended up eating at the bar, having friendly banter with the bartender.
Excited to snuggle up in our cushy beds, we headed to our room to prep for an early day as our six-day rail tour of Ireland begins. Dublin provided a wonderful welcome into Ireland. We would have liked to have more time in Dublin and definitely will include it as a place to come back to in the future. While no husbands were found today, I have a feeling this won’t be the last we hear on this subject if the rest of our stay is anything like today. I’ll keep you posted but until then, be on the look out for “the look.”
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