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.
No comments:
Post a Comment