Dear Ireland - Finale - Her People

Your people are gracious, welcoming and wholehearted. In our time there, in all our driving and walking and riding buses, we did not meet one untoward person. For instance the four of us; Cindy, Daniel, Ani, and I, traveled by bus on our last night in Dublin, three buses to be exact for Cindy and I. Each of the drivers was kind and understanding and this in an occupation that tends to breed curmudgeons injecting coarseness into every soul. Thank you for nurturing the collective kindness of your people.

My dear Ireland, you got me over myself in many ways. One result was that I had no problem asking even the simplest thing when we had a question – Where to go? How to tip? Do you have gluten free and vegetarian menu items? When does the music start? (Really though, it never stopped) In every case there was first a smile, then the answer, then the reassurance of ‘no worries’, with a parting wish for a great trip. You made me feel at home and amongst friends. When we looked lost or confused your people stopped and sought us out, going out of their way to make sure we could find our way, always with a smile and so pleased that we were visiting Ireland.

Galway Street Club
See postscript for YouTube links

Speaking of music, on our way back to St. Anthony’s B&B from the Spanish Arch in Galway we chanced upon a joyous scene where a couple of hundred people had gathered as the Galway Street Club performed their music. Performed is not quite the word I want. They reveled in it and the crowd enjoyed a good rollick as well. We took up the whole of the wide cobbled walkway, some dancing where they stood, many tapping out the rhythm, and still more singing along in the well-known choruses. Folks who wanted simply to pass through wormed their way through the crowd and walked between the performers and watchers while skipping and dancing their way by as often as not. I lost track of time we spent there and was lost in the music. After a time we said that we’d leave after the next song and said the same thing song after song until a slight break in the enchanting scene allowed us to break free of the spell and head back to our rooms.

We stayed at an array of Bed and Breakfast establishments and each was overseen by excellent people. Three of them stood out to me and I’ll name them here so that you can remember them with kindness as they represent your people.

Lissyclearig Thatch Cottage
Artwork by Quirky Paintings - Kenmare

Carmel Breen and her husband Davey opened their heart and home to us. Lissyclearig Thatch Cottage has as much country character you could hope for. Davey built it from the ground up as well as most of the furnishings including dining tables, frames, hearths, and lamps. The craftsmanship is superb and is a testament to the Irish tradesman pride. I suspect he implemented Carmel’s vision to a tee. The cottage is decorated throughout with family memorabilia and surrounded by fanciful gardens to the front, vegetables and flowers to the rear. Carmel is gregarious and her convivial approach to the breakfast started our days off on the right foot. While Davey prefers the quiet pursuits of craftsmanship and fishing he took humble delight in our praise of the wonderful cottage. Cindy and I spent our layover day there at the cottage as well as a walkabout in the town of Kenmare. It was a sanctuary for us.

San Augustine’s B&B in Swords, Dublin was our final stop before heading home. Anna Walsh, the proprietress, greeted us with alacrity and a sense of humour that is sure to bring a smile to the weariest of travelers. She got right down to the business of arranging breakfast and a cab for us as we dropped our cars off that night and had a need for an early ride to the airport the next morning. When we jokingly asked about breakfast before our 4 a.m. cab arrived she laughed and said something to the effect that God doesn’t get breakfast at that hour. She related the story of how Ann Eagers dropped off a package for us and how amazing that was to her. I suspect she goes the extra mile when the occasion warrants it just as she did for us with the cab and sharing a laugh with us.

Banner House in Rathcoole, Dublin was our first B&B stop. However, I saved the Banner House story for last because the proprietress, Ann Eagers, was most amazing, even to our friend Anna at San Augustine B&B. Ann got us off on the right foot for our B&B experience welcoming us into her house and showing us the way of things. I loved the sun room between the main house and the extension, great for a read and write session. The Irish breakfast was excellent and she was efficient. As we prepared to leave for our next stop at St. Anthony’s in Galway Ann asked for our voucher. “Voucher”, I replied? I was not aware of the need for vouchers and had failed to print them. Ani and Daniel had already pulled out as we were taking separate routes to Galway that day and I was the lost soul of a rookie B&B’er.

Ann brought me into her kitchen and we sat at her new computer where I was able to find the vouchers. The new computer wasn’t able to send anything to the printer so Ann called her daughter who arrived from next door with her computer and her son in tow. We found and saved he vouchers to her computer and she ran home to print them out. During the interlude I learned that peek-a-boo is an international phenomenon, the boy is delightful. Ann handled a stressful situation for me with grace and I was relieved that I hadn’t ruined the whole trip for us. And this was just the beginning of Ann going the extra mile for us.

Sometime after our arrival at St. Anthony’s B&B we discovered that we’d left something in the wardrobe back at Banner House. We despaired that we would never see the piece again and reduce the once thrifty purchase of the coat to a marginally wise purchase since we had traversed the island from the east coast to west coast on our 210km drive. Prior to our departure after our two night stay at St. Anthony’s I took my newfound shamelessness and emailed Ann about the garment. She answered promptly and ended a couple of logistical questions with “Let me know where you will be staying and we will take it from there.” As it turned out, or so she said, Ann and her husband were visiting family in Swords and dropped the coat liner off at our final B&B at San Augustine.

My final email response to Ann was, “A favorable trip advisor report would have been a joy to write in any case, this puts you in a category beyond any reasonable definition. You have become my Irish champion.” And, she is. Cindy was pleasantly surprised that her coat had been made whole.

A final lesson I learned while being introduced to you, Ireland is this: There is not enough of a life span to know even the smallest of countries. For one, its people are too diverse to allow for a complete understanding of the land. There is only enough time in one’s life to walk with an open heart and receive life’s bounty as it is presented wherever and whenever it comes along.

The greatest vista we enjoyed was overlooking the Lakes of Killarney. Cindy had me stand on the low rock wall at the edge of the car park and lift my hands for a photograph. While posing thus I was drawn to bless Ireland and worship God. I’ll not call it a benediction, I don’t want to put final punctuation to my experience with you.

I love Ireland, her people, her land, and her poetry.

YouTube links to Galway Street Club: 

My short video clip of the group:

A more complete video and song from YouTube:

Dear Ireland - Part 2

Oh Ireland, we walked your island here and there and at each turn and cresting of rise your history was revealed, your traditions and passions opened as the wild fuchsia in the fields. Your arms were opened wide to us, your vales welcomed us in, and your abbeys soothed our souls. You made me believe I could be a poet, and so for a time I was.

Athenry Priory

It seems that every farmer has an ancient wall or arch in his fields and that all sheep are afforded the comfort of a medieval tower. It appears that each town has sprung up around a castle and/or an abbey and I think they have done just that. Our first impromptu excursion was in response to a highway tourist sign with a castle icon imprinted on it as though it was an everyday occurrence to find a side road to a castle. We jogged over to Athenry, or ‘Ford of the King’, and felt very brave to so; getting off our route to Galway for this was chancy, but we were richly reworded for our efforts. We paid our small entry fee for the Athenry Castle and were afforded a personal tour by a young woman whose passion for the history of her people was made evident in each room and with every story with which she regaled us. We would have loved to record a little of her talk but she is shy in that regard. Her fierce sense of independence and pride in her heritage were infectious – I could have taken up arms for Athenry. The priory of Athenry with the cemetery surrounding the old Dominican sanctuary was enthralling, especially considering we were free to walk about the grounds and found nothing defaced in the whole of the ruin.

We found your abbeys, priories, town walls and bridges, castles and their walls in every place we paused throughout our travels. These and the old churches are a marvel and I often found myself in a quiet solitude of the moment. There I could offer prayers for friends and family, for you and your people, and often ended my prayer in dumbstruck silence listening to the ancient chants echoing through the halls. Thank you for those moments where I sensed God’s presence and felt at home.

Me at Cromwell's Bridge

We loved our time in Kenmare or ‘the little nest’. Sprinkled amongst this active village are remnants of times long past and Cindy and I gave ourselves a walking tour. We found the misnamed Cromwell’s Bridge built sometime in the 11^th century and marveled that we could walk over and touch it, no velveteen robes to protect it, no garda to warn us off. I like the idea that the Irish word ‘cromael’ meaning moustache is more likely the source of the name since the high arched bridge indeed looks like a fu manchu. We found the Kenmare Stone Circle built sometime in the Bronze Age, as old as 2,200 years BC. What a marvelous thing! Before that, the oldest ‘structures’ I’d seen were undated American First Peoples’ house rings on top of Mormon Peak above Death Valley. The stone circle stirred our imagination and we could readily see how these places could capture the imaginations of modern day writers like C.S. Lewis and Tolkien and their peers.

At Blarney Castle we climbed the tightly wound stairway to the ramparts and there kissed the Blarney Stone. I am hoping that the legend is more blarney than baloney so that my writing will be enriched for the climb and the kiss. Blarney’s Poison Garden was both amazing and repulsive – I guess it’s the dad in me that shrieked loudest at the thought of a wondering tot sampling the available foliage of the place. I am glad that there is such a castle and such a stone as Blarney, it gives me hope. Thank you.

A Letterfrack Waterfall

We all paid a visit to Kylemore Abbey, a relatively new structure having been started in 1867. The romance that spawned the building of the castle and the twists of fate that brought it to become a Benedictine Community home could inspire a wealth of stories. Of our time spent on the grounds what touched me most was our walk on the Letterfrack Poetry Trail. I was brought to tears at the poems, the waterfalls, and moss-covered walls amongst the ferns made me believe I could be a poet. Indeed, thank you for the fairy’s touch that could make me believe such a miracle as that.

I had but a glimpse of your past, of the lives that came and went in your hills, and of your watchman’s ways in every tower overlooking vales and upon your flinty coastline. The romance and severity of it all leaves me searching for truths long lost through the ages of advancement. I hope that I could embrace a simple country life and be satisfied. But in a world overrun with people, their machines, and appetency for more, more of everything, I cannot withdraw and must take up arms for Athenry with my words and soul to find a way to instill the simple life in a world spinning out of control.

Such is your legacy Ireland. Thank you.

Dear Ireland - Part 1

I would despair going home were it not for the vast wealth I have stored back in the U.S. You know the wealth I’m talking about – children and grandchildren, family and friends that I could not bear to separate myself from and put such a distance between as our continent and the vast Atlantic Ocean between. Otherwise, I could be happy with you for the rest of my days because of how you opened your deep and kind heart to us.

It was the cumulative experience with you that has captured my heart. Your landscape, the climate, and your people – all instruments in your wonderful orchestra. I’m sorry. That’s a poor analogy at best and I apologize for it. While I have no doubt that you have wonderful orchestral musicians, I have to say that your traditional Irish music touched me most and fits perfectly with your towns and farms and countryside. Cindy and I whetted our appetites by sitting in a few sessions with traveling Irish musicians. And just last night I relived walking through your Abbeys and castles and strolling along when we attended a seisiun with Rattle the Knee who regaled us with reels and jigs, ballads and laments as they combined voice, uillean pipes, tin whistles, guitar, and a marvelous fiddler. I was transported and because you touched my heart it was all so very real.

Your ancientness was evidenced in every town and valley with Abbeys and castles, towers and walls, bridges, stone circles, and more – they all spoke to us of your enduring qualities as a people and as a country. We were awed by your Book of Kells with its art and the attention to detail. Your reverence to the King of kings demonstrated both on the ancient ruins and the library but was most on display with how openly we were welcomed by your people.

Of all the things I experienced while touring your country it was your driving style that was most foreign to me. This driving on the left side of the road in right-hand drive autos never really allowed me to relax behind the wheel. That’s saying a lot because I like to drive; at times I love to drive. The great thing about driving your roads was that we did not witness one accident or lack of consideration for other drivers. True, as with all places, native drivers go faster and make us visitors a bit nervous. Coming from America where our tolerance (mine included) has worn thin, it was quite amazing that I was not yelled at once, even when trying to complete a left turn into an occupied right-hand lane.

I love your rolling hills and wide valleys with the neatly sectioned off fields for livestock and crops. Your old stone walls, in town and field, create their own growing ecosystems with fern and lichen clinging to every surface, cropping out of every nook. We saw the Cliffs of Galway, marveled at the birds seen there, and wondered at the monumental cliffs running north and south of our viewing points. We pulled to the side of the road overlooking the Lakes of Killarney at the Ladies View Pub. My wife had me pose there upon the rock wall lifting my hands in blessing and worship. It did it gladly and from my heart. Time and again you gave us a 360^o panorama of beauty.

With the exception of one day we had at least a little rain fall on us as we wove along the roadways and walked your cities and parks. We are in draught here in Southern California and we found ourselves refreshed. I guess the price of being known as the Emerald Isle is the rain whenever the mood strikes Mother Nature but we reveled in it often going without our hoods up to feel the rain upon our heads and wash over our faces.

Cliffs of Moher - O'Brien's Tower

At first glance your Cliffs of Moher (Irish: Aillte an Mhothair) appear severe and inhospitable. The Princess Bride miscast them as The Cliffs of Insanity, although to great effect for the storyline. After a time of walking along the trail atop the cliffs I could see them as serene and embracing, at the same time an implacable force keeping the Atlantic from surging in to cover the greens and ensalt your beautiful loughs.

As a lover of birds for as long as I can remember, an observer of them for over three decades, I had one of my most memorable experiences with my avian friends. I was fortunate enough to lock onto a Great Black-backed Gull with my pocket-binoculars as he soared along the cliff face with his five and a half foot wings (1.7m) outstretched for an effortless glide first south toward Hag’s Head and then, with a glance over his shoulder, he banked over to head northeast where he went out of sight behind the point at O’Brien’s Tower. I was at the same time bereft of my travel with him and enriched for having watched such effortless flight along the magnificent vistas. Thank you for that, I will relive the gull’s flight over and over again.

In the city of Galway we walked through the Spanish Arch and down to the River Corrib and there watched nearly an hundred Mute Swans ply the waters to snack upon the mosses. I watched as a Grey Heron glided in to wade along the river’s bank just below the concrete embankment. I was able to stretch out and over the edge to capture what is most likely my best bird photograph.

The view of your Lakes of Killarney from Ladies View is stunning, I imagined myself spending days on end exploring the vale and lakes getting to know flora and fauna. I believe that any road we could have taken would have led us to some dale or field or copse and there to find creatures of legend where we would have been happily waylaid for an extended visit.

Thank you Ireland