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, orBrú na Bóinnein 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Our activities today and yesterday have converged around ancestors and history. Yesterday we set out for the Kennedy Homestead in New Ross. Definitely off the beaten path and not filled with tourists. It is the location of the home Patrick Kennedy left as a famine emigrant only to have his great-grandson, John F. Kennedy return in 1963 as President. During that visit his cousin, Mary Ryan, hosted a tea for him, gave him a kiss on the cheek and said, “Welcome home, Jack.” The two sat on an old car seat together and had tea. It is the story of so many emigrants, forced to leave their countries and turning their backs on the past to face the future. Families splintered by those who stayed and those who left. The homestead is quaint, simple, and a Kennedy family member still resides there.
as always, click to enlarge
This morning we ate a delicious breakfast and packed out of Killiane Castle but not before spending some time with the main innkeepers, Paul and Patricia. I say main because it is a family affair and next year they will celebrate 100 years of family ownership, a sort of Ireland “century” farm. You can see in their faces it is a labor of love.
Before we left, Paul took us to meet their two “rescue” donkeys, Kobe and Flagon. Wexford has a donkey rescue service and they adopted these two. Evidently, donkeys grow emotionally attached to each other and these two move as a pair.
Then we were off on our longest drive of the trip, 3.5 hours to Bandon, County Cork.
Graham was the surname of Wayne’s maternal side of the family and he was told they emigrated to Canada from Bandon during the famine, eventually settling in the midwest. He went on a search that started in a pub where we were told to go to the library next door. There, a helpful librarian whose maternal surname was Graham was eager to help. She leaned toward us and in sotti voce inquired, “Protestant or Catholic?” “Catholic, very Catholic”, replied Wayne. The librarian hemmed and hawed a little and confessed that Graham was a Protestant surname. She checked some references and found nothing but gave us directions to the Bandon Heritage Center across the foot bridge.
It was previously the Protestant church but was abandoned and lay dormant for decades. The community put together a committee and turned it into the Heritage Center. While nosing around we were told that Bandon was populated by Protestants sent over by Liz I, thus becoming a Protestant stronghold in Ireland. It was a walled city and Catholics were banished outside the walls. On market days, the pigs would be allowed inside the walls but not the Catholics. There is still a saying, “Bandon, the town where the pigs are Protestant.”
Inside it’s filled with birth, baptism and burial records dating back centuries. Plus very helpful personnel.
We checked the Catholic record books, nothing. Then checked the Protestant books – Glory! Grahams baptized and buried in Bandon.
Achieving a possible reclamation of abandoned Graham history we sputtered away, our Nissan Micra purring like a sewing machine.
Now we are safely ensconced for the evening at the Dunmore House Hotel looking out our window.
After a harrowing experience at the Avis rental desk where our diligence resulted in avoiding outrageous overcharges, a cancellation, a new reservation, a vastly improved rental rate, calls to credit cards for insurance coverage and a final call to the US Avis division, we were off to the Wexford area. Another sunny day in Ireland found us driving our aptly named Nissan “Micra” on the left side with a singular navigation hitch easily resolved, passing fields and hedgerows until we arrived fully intact at our accommodation, Killane Castle and Farm. Yes, the Iowa farm boy is staying on a working farm in Ireland. Cows, a castle in ruins, a dog, and a beautiful country house. Instead of plugging in pictures I put together a slide show best viewed if you hit the play button then bottom right button and expand to full screen.
We booked a formal tour of Trinity College Library and the Book of Kells this morning. We were the first group let in when the library opened so had optimum viewing of the vellum created circa 800 AD. Of course, no pictures allowed of the scripture books but we were free to take as many snaps as we wanted without a flash in the Long Room. Imagine walking up a set of stairs, you turn, the smell of old books starts to permeate the air, your eyes see this, and you hear a fellow tourist state, “Well this looks like somethin’ out of a Harry Potter movie.”
After a walking tour of Dublin Castle, we sat down for lunch at Chez Max, a cozy little bistro.
Then back to see the State Apartments at the castle and a closer inspection of the grounds.
Tomorrow we pick up a car and start our drive around the coast. Driver and navigator are meditating for peace before we attempt to conquer the wrong side of the road.
That is the official name of Trinity College, founded in 1592 by Liz I. It is at the top of every Dublin destination guide and rightly so. Mobbed by tourist and guides dressed in Harry Potter costumes it is steeped in history and culture. After a late leave from the hotel we set out late morning to explore every nook, cranny and door we could open.
Seems the class of 2022 is just arriving.
The center of the campus, Parliament Square.
Then, the Chapel, completed in 1798 and still open to the pubic today.
Ornate floors with heating grills.
The seating and stalls, clearly meant to highlight rank and position, some just benches others with property doled out per armrest and seats of honor.
Unbeknownst to us, a bride and groom were about to walk the aisle and they do really still wear morning coats and hats.
The best view of a column is out a window.
Being built over hundreds of years the architecture is remarkably varied.
Perhaps some ideas for our front door? Same address.
What’s a Saturday afternoon without a game of Cricket?
We made our way out the Lincoln gate and stopped in at the National Gallery of Ireland, stunningly renovated in 2017 and boasts a Vermeer and Caravaggio before having lunch.
We decided to walk back to our hotel through college grounds in the late afternoon sun. Seems centuries old windows require modern food products to prop them open.
Still, who could resist this light.
And the beauty of trees centuries old.
Hard to top this day, but the cake still had to be iced. As if on cue bagpipers and drummers appeared in Parliament Square. A catering chef filled in the information they were rehearsing for a dinner this evening honoring fire brigades and first responders.
So, how to start the morning? Climb aboard a big green bus with a bunch of strangers and ride in the open air and sunshine of a special Dublin day.
Here’s the route, click to enlarge (if you are patient and really want to see it), there is no better way to get a sense of the city and the relation of streets, alleys, parks, and the history that binds.
We took the ride completely around the loop and then before starting on our second roundtrip disembarked at Dawson St. for a bite to eat. Sat street side and let the sites and sounds of the street accompany lunch.
I took a jaunt around the sidewalk corner and found this treasure.
Across the street a school of songs hundreds of years old.
And up the street, their library.
On the walk between the two churches we explored some housing.
This obviously was for the workers.
This one for the more artistic.
And what of the Working Girls?
An Irish lace curtain caught in the wind.
And a very old door still opens to the air.
Then we wound around the alleys and roads amid the 70-acre Guinness Storehouse where they ferment 3.5 billion “pints” each year. Embedded in the first floor entrance floor is the 9,000 year lease signed by Arthur Guinness in 1795.
Calatrava’s fingerprints seem worldwide.
And we’ve all heard about the tech boom in Ireland. Here’s what a tiny 12.5% corporate tax rate will do for your city. All cranes, glass and steel claiming the dockside for business.
Meanwhile, we made it back to the ranch with a good dose of sun -kissed vitamin D warming our foreheads.
After the overnight flight from Chicago, we headed into Dublin benefitting from a taxi driver who seemed to double as a tour guide. We had to wait to check in to the hotel so strolled through the streets to keep ourselves moving.
as always, click to enlarge
It’s almost as if they expected Americans to leave their sense of direction back in the States.
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