Monthly Archives: September 2018

Bru na Boinne, Ireland, Newgrange, Uncategorized

Slán

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Farewell Ireland.  It seems fitting that we visited a 5,000 year old megalithic passage grave on our last full day.

We started with a nice view from the breakfast table.

Then got on the road still plagued by downed power lines.

Negrange, or Brú na Bóinne in Gaelic, is older than the pyramids.  Wayne reminisced about public school textbooks hailing Egypt as the cradle of civilization while being mum on what lies here in Ireland.  Pictures were not allowed inside the tomb so you’ll have to settle for the  grounds, peaceful and quiet, settled in place, set in rolling hills with cows and sheep grazing around ancient sites.  

The mass dwarfs a pack of humans.

Many of the stones have intricate carvings.

The astronomical alignment is perfect.  On the winter solstice, a shaft of light pierces the “roof” window, which is set above the entrance and is the same height as the horizon beyond, lighting the passage all the way to the tomb, which itself is at the same height of the window and horizon.  They have a lottery for 20 tickets each of the two days before and after the solstice and every year 36,000 people buy a chance to witness the event.  

The entrance.

Image result for roof window bru na boinne

A close up of the window.

Tomorrow, up at the crack of dawn, finish the final packing and then head home.  We have had a wonderful time.  Thank you for coming along for the ride.

Slán

 

Uncategorized

Ali Packs a Punch

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Innocent tourists that we are, we didn’t look at the weather report this morning, but outside our hotel the wind was blowing and the rain coming in  sideways.  Unbeknownst to us, Storm Ali was bashing Ireland.  And it was a whopper forcing the cancellation of the second day of the National Ploughing Championships (I know, how will you go on?).  The front desk warned during check out, handing us a map to get out of the city and telling us power lines were down on the M1 so alternate routes had to be taken.

FREQUENT alternate routes.  Seems every road we drove down ended up blocked.

Even the occasional power line down.

With the help of google maps we criss-crossed our way from Belfast to Kingscourt.

Debris everywhere.

Even the trucks were going down single lane country roads in search of a thru passage.

A vacated church in the middle of nowhere.

We finally made it to our lodging for the night.

And now we’re all tucked in our little cottage nursing colds.

Shout out to google maps.  Although I would suggest an alternative to “continue straight”, which we heard over and over and over.  Might I suggest “continue gayly forward”?

 

Belfast, Belfast Castle, Northern Ireland, Peace Walls

Sunshine in Belfast

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Yesterday we trooped like good tourists to  the Titanic Museum.  I wrote a  review on TripAdvisor entitled, “A Disappointment of Titanic Proportion.”  I’ll just leave it at that and pop in one picture just to prove our attendance.

Oh, but one more, the venerable “Crapper” aboard the SS Nomadic, the Titanic tender ship.  Click to enlarge so you can see the logo.

We have fallen in love with those “Hop On, Hop Off” buses.  They give a great tour of the city and we end up seeing things we wouldn’t otherwise see, getting a sense of the city overall.

We decided to walk the few blocks from our hotel to Queen’s University and the Botanical Gardens and after trouping around there . . .  hop on.

Our street –  can you conjure a more definitive Belfast street scene?

The first building in our path, the handsome Union Theological College.

Ah, a new job!

Then on to the Botanical garden – more flowers.

Such a dandy chap!

The Palm House Conservatory, finished in 1840, and one of the first to feature curved glass and cast iron.

Just a few steps to the iconic university building with walls of stained glass.

Time to hop on.  It was raining when we boarded so no pictures to show until we got to Royal Victoria Hospital where I guess they are not accepting new patients (click to enlarge).

As the bus zigged and zagged through the now sunny neighborhoods, the guide let us know if it was Catholic or Protestant.  The city is still mightily segregated.  Here is a “peace wall” which started springing up in 1969 to “minimize inter-communal violence”.  This one is still standing around a Catholic neighborhood and the gates close at 6:30 every evening.

Here a slowly crumbling prison where folks were held without cause.

And on we went to Shankill Road (yesterdays post referred to the Shankill Butchers) where allegiances were proudly displayed.

Then you turn a corner and flash back into the world of Irish Ozzie and Harriet.

The Belfast Castle is nestled in the hills just outside the city centre.   The gardens have a view across the river to the shipyard.

Another turn, another declaration.  This claims territory for the Ulster Volunteer Force.

The fragile peace is palpable.

For the sake of history, here is the Albert clock.  Vickie built memorials all over the empire in an effort to impress upon everyone how sad she was to lose her German husband.  I’m not a bad photographer, the clock tower leans.  Never one to be told no, Vickie had the thing built over a submerged river.

Back to the hotel and a view out our window of the mammoth H & W cranes next to the Titanic dock.

It just started raining while the sun is shining . . . pot of gold?

Since we are getting to the end of the trip, we can safely add a tip for hoteliers around the globe.  THESE THINGS DON’T WORK.  You step on the pedal and it  hits you on the shin!

Belfast, Belfast Troubles, Northern Ireland

A Poignant and Troubling Day

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During the “troubles”, downtown Belfast was enclosed by a steel wall and vacated at the end of the business day.   It became  known as “Dead Centre”, which appropriately, is the name of the tour company which guided us around today.  As a child, I saw the “troubles” through a television set and some pictures in Life magazine.

Here in Belfast today, I saw through the lens of testimonial, time, and place.

Paul, our guide, is a teacher now with a degree in political science but lived through the troubles as a child.

When he was four a store a few doors from his home was bombed and his parents found him upstairs sound asleep amid broken glass.  Some of his earliest memories are of his family carting out their possessions to move to a place of safety.  Paul also does mediation work between Republicans (predominately Catholic) and Unionists/Loyalists (predominately Protestant).  His perspective both personal and intellectual brings clarity to the disturbing history of this city.

We started at City Hall (note; Births, Deaths, Marriages and Civil Partnerships).

Here Queen Vickie, holding the orb, stands in authority (perhaps the root of the problem).

In just a short walk we were in the middle of dead centre.  The steel wall was a ring of fencing around the city centre, you had to be searched to enter.  It did not come down until 1995.  Here you can see what it was like to go to work each day.

Even now the streets are deserted at night and shops closed on Sunday leaving a ghost town feel amid the clash of architecture past and present.

Across the street from this shot was one of the first bombings in the entrance of a night club.  The bomb was set by a paramilitary squad who pulled up, held the bouncers at gun point, set down the bomb and then told them they had ten minutes before it exploded.

In 1972, the Abercorn Restaurant was bombed, killing 2 and injuring over 130.  The IRA was blamed but no one was ever charged.

The scene then.

Abercorn bomb.jpg

And now.

This is the sight of Mooneys Bar where three Scottish soldiers (two of them brothers aged 17 and 18) were lured out of the bar  and  into the hands of IRA paramilitary then shot at a remote location.

The response from the Protestants was to start the Tartan Gangs and the Shankill Butchers who would kidnap, torture and murder random Catholics. The point being, if you couldn’t kill an IRA soldier, you killed a civilian.

July 21, 1972, is remembered as Bloody Friday when 20 car bombs went off all around Belfast in less than 80 minutes terrorizing the entire city.

This building in 1972.

And today.

During the course of the Northern Ireland Troubles there were 16,209 bombings and attempted bombings.  Most in Belfast, a compact city of 300,000 individuals spread over just 42 square miles.  Compare with Chicago at 1,318 square miles and you can understand the concentration of terror involved in living each day.

Signs of hope appear randomly throughout the city.  Charming cobbled streets, flowers, and a street mural project that reinterprets the violent murals of the past.  And what is more hopeful than a smiling Cavalier?

As Paul said, “A city that has one eye on the past is wise, a city that has both eyes on the past is blind.”

Belfast, Northern Ireland, Uncategorized

Tinker, Tailor, Tourist Spies

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We tinkered with our route this morning and had some extra time which we used to travel the coastal route paying the dividend of more stunning beauty.  As promised, no more pics of landscape.

We entered Belfast and were immediately aware of its unique identity.  It’s a more urban feel with abundant graffiti, a little grit on the streets and a plethora of Thai restaurants (I think we are about to see Thai food hailed as the first global cuisine, it is ubiquitous).  Belfast has a little over 300,000 citizens, so a smallish city.  It’s been occupied since the Bronze Age and Queen Vickie gave it city status in 1888.  We’ll be tourist spies tomorrow on  a “Troubles” walking tour  but Belfast is now known as one of the safest cities in the UK.  We are staying just blocks from Queen’s University and the neighborhood is young, diverse, full of street life and vintage shops.

This statue sized drinking fountain is affectionately inscribed with the phrase,  “Whoever drinketh here will surely thirst again.”  Nice to know.

But now for the win of the day.  Wayne has been in search of a replacement for his threadbare 35-year-old tweed jacket.  He didn’t want something new or different – more of a reproduction.  We searched in Dublin, made a special stop in Donegal to ferret something out (see current label below) all to no avail.

We did locate the closest Donegal tweed fabric in Dublin at Kevin and Howlin where they said they couldn’t make the jacket but did cut a swatch of the fabric and filed it with his name on it in hopes that a tailor in Chicago could do the construction.  Belfast was our last hope.  So we set out with a list of tweed stores proffered by google.

The first was a bespoke shop, North Clothing, Gentlemen’s Outfitters.  The proverbial pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.  Inside, the proprietor, Michael Donnelly, a tailor in his own right was about to get a sale.    He got on the phone, talked to the store in Dublin, measured Wayne up, and we’re dropping off the old jacket for him to copy before we leave on Wednesday.  So he’ll end up with Donegal tweed from Dublin made into a new jacket in Belfast.  Couldn’t get more Irish than than that.

Michael letting Wayne know he is a tailor, not a miracle worker.

On the phone with Dublin getting the fabric sent.

Time to measure.

I’ll leave you with a quote from Mr. Donnelly, “The grief I give you is extra.”

 

Giants Causeway, Ireland, Northern Ireland, Portrush

A Giant Legend

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A singular purpose today – explore the Giants Causeway,  designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1986 and the source of Gaelic mythology regarding a giant named Fionn mac Cumhaill.  On the way, we took a stop at Dunluce Castle a ruin from the 13th century precariously situated on a cliff.

After parking at the visitors center it was an easy walk, downhill, not so easy on the way back.

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The geological formations look routine.

Then from nowhere the lack of randomness makes you ask –  is this the result  of 60 million years of geological activity  or human intervention?

The geology expanded into a virtual field of columns pushing out the ground and into the sea making your feet underneath seem extraterrestrial.

Climbing required care.

For safety there were several “Causeway Cops” blowing whistles when someone strayed into dangerous territory.

Here is the experience of navigating the field. Forgive my attempts to narrate over the wind.

Nooks and crannies, vast fields, an Escher stairway pouring into the sea.

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The Wishing Chair.

Whole landscapes like no other.

You have been kind to all these scenic pictures over these last several days.  I promise they are over.  We head into Belfast tomorrow and the scenery will shift to urban architecture, old and new.

But wait, a decoy was spotted in a yellow rain slicker making several attempts to photo bomb our pictures.  This must stop.

Giant Causeway, Northern Ireland, Portrush

Horn Headed

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Good day from Portrush, Northern Ireland.

Always, always, always talk to strangers when you travel.

Last night while consuming Donegal Bay oysters, steamed mussels, and chips at The Olde Castle Bar and Fish Dock, two women scooted into the booth adjacent to ours struck up a conversation.  One, whose late husband was Irish, claimed Donegal County her favorite part of Ireland.  She talked about cliffs way out on the peninsula.   She was referring to Horn Head a series of cliffs that rise 600 ft. straight out of the sea.

We rose early and after a quick breakfast made the decision to drive there even though  our car time increased by 2 hours.   It was one of those instincts, “When are we ever coming back to Horn Head?  Let’s go.”

The drive took us through a range of Irish topography.  And it quickly became extremely rural, with  kilometers between  farm houses.

First the Irish green.

Then the ground hardened and grew more barren.

But still some sheep.

Farm trespassers beware of biosecurity!

And then the windmill farms.

Then back to green and blue.

And the occasional mountain.

Then we had Peat Moors.   Interesting fact; peat is the most efficient carbon sink on the planet.

The rows you see are cuts where the peat has been harvested.

A car came past in the opposite direction, flashing his lights at us.  Why?  Watch out!

Google Maps took us right up to the pinnacle of Horn Head.  These are not the Cliffs of Moher and as a result, are almost devoid of tourists.   Only two others crossed our path.

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On the highest rise sits an abandoned defensive structure.  Who knows if it is WWII or earlier but definately built to be manned for significant periods.  Why else have a fireplace?

Seems someone tried to claim its symbolism.

Looking back on the cliffs you get a different perspective.

Good thing we were the lone car on the drive down.

Our friend from last night told us tensions still exist between the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland, UK, crown vs. catholic.  That was apparent when we crossed the border.  No checkpoints, just a sign saying, “Welcome to Northern Ireland”, black spray smudging  out “Northern”.

ashford castle, Donegal Castle, Ireland, Ireland School of Falconry

Ashford Castle Addendum

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Yesterdays post was entirely devoted to the Hawk Walk with Connor, it was so special it deserved its own space.  The walk was not the end of the day.  Indeed we had a sunny afternoon to explore more of the castle grounds.  But first, baby pictures.

Oscar Wilde at one week of age.

And Millie, same age.

The first flourish we explored was the “Walled Garden”.

suggest you click to enlarge

This led out to another garden and the Long Walk.

A promenade of nature.

And, where mushrooms grow.

Next, The Quiet Man House.  John Ford filmed “The Quiet Man” at the castle and the surrounding Village of Cong in 1952 and all sorts of memorabilia are still present at the castle and in the Village.  This house is currently guest accommodations.

Love the vintage style Rovers.

Off to the Old School House, now guest accommodations as well.

Then a short drive to explore the grounds adjacent to the castle.

Someone’s feeling royal . .

This morning we woke to Irish sunshine.

The Last Breakfast.

As we departed, Wayne wanted to check some detail about the castle windows so we drove up for a last look and to snap a pic in the full sun.  Good thing we went there because in the lobby lay two Irish Wolfhounds, “Garvin”, and “Konen”.  Their size just gives more surface for humans to rub them.

Then it was off to Donegal in a futile search to replace that 30-year old tweed jacket.  We found nothing in the Donegal Castle or the town shops.

ashford castle, Ireland, Ireland School of Falconry

The Affair of Oscar Wilde and Millicent

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We’ve been lucky.  Traveling on days of rain and waking up to sun and clouds.

We filled up on a bountiful breakfast, local meats, cheese, eggs, and all sorts of goodness

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Then, off to the primary event, Ireland’s School of Falconry.

The compound reflects the care that each falconer embodies.  Hawks, Falcons, and Owls appreciate the Irish flora.

First, Dingle came out to say hello.

Then others met their match for a walk.

It seems to me there are rare occasions when species on this earth communicate with each other.  The simple example is walking down the street and meeting a dog.  You bend over and say, “Hello,” and give a scratch around the ears.  What of the aviary species?  That cross-species connection seems dominated by the home team.  The victorian cage of the canary.  Imagine being able to fly through the air, honing in on every movement below and knowing exactly where you are going to land; and allowing  humans to get a hint of the experience.   We had such an affair today.  A very intimate connection as we walked through the forest with Oscar Wilde and Millicent flying overhead at times so close the air from their wings blew our hair.

Connor was our guide.  He got his undergraduate degree in Zoology and his masters in Biodiversity and Conservation.  Luck of the draw.  I’m sure all of the eleven staff at the Ireland School of Falconry are competent but having been there only a year, Connor oozed a  sense of awe living with these beautiful creatures every day.

He explained the life of birds of prey.  We think they are active 23 hours a day, but really, they are lazy.  Sitting in their nests hanging out and only when motivated by hunger do they go out and forage for food.  In fact, the leading cause of death among falcons is starvation since the impulse to hunt is lagging.  Connor introduced us to many of the falcons in the compound, including a Peregrine that Connor had to yet achieve certification to fly, given their dive speed is 120 miles per hour.  Each is at home in the territory of their perch.

Then he introduced us to Millicent and Oscar Wilde.  She was named for the moldy nest where she hatched, first called mildew, then afforded the nickname, Millie, then formalized turning into Millicent.  Oscar was simply borne with a brood that were named after authors.  His brother is Bram Stoker.

Oscar and Wayne.

Me and Millie.

After some very pointed but necessary instruction from Connor, we were off to the forest and the release to flight.

as always, click to enlarge

We quickly made friends.

And learned how to interact.

Then, it was off to the races . . .

We spent an incredible forty-five minutes walking through the forest with these regal creatures.  They were always the ones in control.  We were merely the observers.

We had another adventure walking through the grounds of Ashford Castle but we’ll leave that for another post.

ashford castle, Ireland

Castles Rock

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We woke up this morning with sore bones from the hours of walking in the wind yesterday.  Seriously, at times we looked like  mimes in Central Park.  This morning I pulled out my Bogs which I thought about wearing yesterday but obviously made the wrong choice.

We checked out of the quaint Atlantic Hotel in Lahinch where we had a very cosy room above the pub and restaurant.  You saw my mud caked clothing yesterday, well they laundered it for me.  I was one very appreciative guest.

Atlantic_Exterior

Our drive took us north of Galway to Cong, County Mayo.  It was a soaking rain so not many pics along the way but we did pass the occasional castle.

We are at our “splurge” hotel for the trip, Ashford Castle.  We are staying in the lodge which has more modern rooms but have full run of the place.  Since it was raining instead of walking the gardens we took a look inside.

Our room isn’t the intense Victorian decoration (thank you).

Tomorrow we are scheduled to take a Hawk Walk with the Ireland School of Falconry.  Send the goddess weather vibes just like you did for the Cliffs of Moher.

Cliffs of Moher, Ireland

Cliffs of Moher

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Today was the Cliffs of Moher.  I questioned whether it would be enough to fill an entire day but planned as if it would.  Simply put, it was a full day.  Full of exercise, awe, some struggle and ultimately the experience of nature asking much of us but giving more in return.

First of all, one of us went down . . . in the mud and almost over the edge.  Pride brushed off and mud intact we forged forward.

Don’t click to enlarge this, I’m big enough.

There was heather and warning along the path.

Why do humans try to leave a mark of their person when nature completely leaves them in the shadow?  It’s just clutter.

Muddy shoes, close to the edge.

You have to get the best shot, even though you have a 60-year old bald spot.

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Some trails, easy, others threateningly close to the edge.

Our yellow rain slickers (Thanks Wayne) helped us stand out.

The warnings were correct.  These are not your “US Park Service Extreme Caution Warnings.”  These are real.  And it is dangerous, the wind blows around in gusts and footing is all important.

Still, I’m having fun.

And some are trudging on.

Even in the face of severe danger.

And then a time for contemplation.

Here’s a slide show  to indulge in music and image.

County Kerry, Ireland, Muckross House

Killarney National Park

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Our trip to the Cliffs of Moher took us through Killarney National Park.  Beautiful drive but you’ll get limited pics as we drove through a rain storm.  Still, we managed to hop out once or twice to get a shot.  We passed several castles, rivers, lakes  and ruins of ancient buildings.

As always, click to enlarge

Deep into Killarney National Park we stumbled on Torc Falls.  Time to bring out the rain slickers.

It felt like the short trail to the falls was  painted green

So much moisture that a fallen tree with its root ball high in the air is still thriving.

A rushing creek and then the falls.

We hopped back in the car and made a stop at Muckross House.  Once owned by a Guinness heir but donated to the Irish Free State in 1932 forming the first National Park of the young country.

It’s Tudor and very gothic in feel.  In fact, it makes you want to write a novel.

It was the sort of rain that soaked clean through his slicker and seeped into his soul.  The fog clung to the hill beyond and would not let go.   He knew he had to enter but Seamus dreaded what lie in wait inside.

But the gardens were painfully beautiful

A proper Irish hedge.

And such blooms.

Tomorrow is Cliffs of Moher, pray to the Goddess for clear skies.

Ireland, Killarney, Killarney National Park, Parknasilla Resort, ring of kerry

Ring of Kerry

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This morning started with a french press coffee.  Nuff said.  Last night, as we were walking through the hotel I noticed a post entitled “Owl Experience,  Friday”.  I asked the front desk about the owl situation and they shied away from commitment saying, “It depends on what mood the owls are in whether they come or not.”  I feel that way every morning so I was game to see their mood.  As I walked up, the morning sun revealed a completely different landscape than the melancholy last evening.

as always, click to enlarge

And then Alan (a fine Irish chap in a bespoke tweed suit with a button-missing waistcoat and bird doo doo on his back) drove up in a van and out came an owl.  Her name is Ferbie.  She’s a Tawny Owl, rescued from a “Harry Potter Home”, a movie buff who thought they could raise an owl but found it was harder than portrayed .  Ferbie is a diva.  She has to be first out the hatch each morning otherwise she grabs the handlers glove and throws it at other owls.  She is very affectionate and loves soft strokes.

She even decided to perch on my arm.

Alan was a fount of owl info and Ferbie was more than willing to accept the coo’s of the gathered crowd.   Then Alan took Ferbie back to the van and brought out a Falcon.

The hood is handmade by a Spanish craftsman and the falcon is calm when the hood is on.  Take it off and he starts to quiver.  He sure is a beaut.

This guy can kill a deer so if he want’s, he sits in the front seat.  Wayne went up and saw him and another white owl.

Time for a homemade breakfast.  In our lodge.

Then it was off for a drive on the “Ring of Kerry”.    Every piece of info I read exalted the Ring of Kerry.  I assumed I would be underwhelmed.  I leave this slide show for you to decide.

We got to the end of the road, time to turn around, but not before a little Charlotte had her way with us.  Such a sweet dog.

Look Ma, only one leg on the ground.

Ireland, Killarney, Killarney National Park, Sneem

Drive to Killarney

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Woke up this morning to a cloudy sunrise.

as always, click to enlarge

Had an amazing breakfast and loved this.

First order of business today was the drive to Sneem, County Killarney with the purpose of visiting Killarney National Park tomorrow.  This area is also known for the  Ring of Kerry, a 111 mile circular route that weaves in and out of inlets and beaches and home to a number of castles and historic homes.    The drive was an event unto itself.    There is literally a wall of hedge along the rode that would extend over the shoulder; if there was a shoulder.  Beautiful but a little scary.  It’s as if you are driving  through the color green.  Here’s a taste, don’t get car sick (if you listen real close you can hear the Micra purr).

We crossed a few rivers and the landscape opened up to, pardon me here, verdant green hills.  Okay, I had to use that adjective because . .   it . . .  is . . .  true.

We checked into our accommodations at Parknasilla Resort, instead of the usual hotel room we are in a two bedroom lodge that is nicely designed and has a full kitchen and laundry.  Once loaded in, I headed to Sneem for a little grocery exploration.  What a village.  Complete with town square, shops all around, friendly faces and a good sense of itself.

There is a nice footbridge across the river.

The highlight for me was the town butcher, Peter O’Sullivan.   I picked up two hand sliced sirloins (currently marinating for tomorrow night) and two rashers of bacon.

Meanwhile after an afternoon settling in and trying to understand what the heck is going on back home, we took a walk around the property.  Aren’t these the largest hydrangea ever?

After my daily bowl of fish chowder (Wayne had a shrimp salad), we headed home to bed.  To say the setting is “melancholy” is an understatement, good place to write that Gothic novel.