Here you go, in response to comments asking for a scenic shot from yesterday! Seems in Ireland, there is beauty in every drive.
Tinker, Tailor, Tourist Spies
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.”
A Giant Legend
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.
Horn Headed
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 Addendum
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 Affair of Oscar Wilde and Millicent
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.
Castles Rock
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.
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.
Killarney National Park
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.
Ring of Kerry
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.
Drive to Killarney
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.
Reclaiming A-“Bandon”-ed History
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.
No Damage to the Automobile or Our Emotions
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.
Thank Goodness I Brought My Library Card
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.
College of the Holy and Undivided Trinity of Queen Elizabeth near Dublin
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.
Turns out it takes two to tune a bagpipe.
I’ll let them pipe me out for today.