Anne and Lynette Hit the Old Sod - August, 2011

Get me to Galway!

After years of talking, and months of planning, Anne (aka Annie McGowan) and I finally made the trip to the homeland in August of 2011.  We had been green with envy at all our relatives who beat us there, but now we have equal bragging rights.  And we weren’t as green as the island; it is truly, stunningly green, in shades from lime to emerald.  The gardener in me was in raptures over the scenes and the plant life, and the medievalist in me was thrilled with the history.  But first, to the generics…(oh, and apologies – this is encyclopedic, so skip over anything you don’t want to read.)

The tour: Anne had cleverly connived to get a tour with multiple nights at a few stops, so we didn’t have to unpack every day.  It was the Irish Gold Tour, from C.I.E. International, and we definitely gave it 5 stars.  Marlene Sullivan, our tour guide, and our stalwart driver Sean Reilly were in cahoots to give us the best all the time.  They were so solicitous, so kind, and so amusing that it was a joy to be enclosed in our tour bus with them for days on end.

Anne and Marlene

Sean Reilly and the Colleens

There were 35 folks in our group, including 15 New Zealanders.  The Kiwis had been traveling three weeks already through England, Scotland, and Wales, and would head home after this Irish jaunt.  In addition, we had 9 folks from New York, 3 from Philadelphia, 2 from Baltimore, 2 from California, 2 from Florida, and us from Indiana and Texas. Most were extensively traveled, with the exception of Lucie and Margaret from California, who were just beginning the touring life.  In age, we ranged from Pixie (a Kiwi) who was 86, down to Stacie from Philly, who was in grad school.  Most were of the retired inclination, of course.

The weather: you have it here, folks: no longer will I believe anyone from anywhere who says “just wait five minutes, and the weather will change.”  That ONLY occurs in Ireland, and it does so with astonishing regularity.  Old Faithful has nothing on a place that can go from downpour to full sun in 5 minute intervals.  It even hailed once! The amazing thing about our trip was that with one exception, all the rain occurred while we were sitting in the bus en route somewhere, or at night.  We’d step off the bus and the sun would come out.  There was truly some lucky Irish in that experience.  It definitely was coolish and windy, though.  Always jacket weather, and never above 65 degrees.  Coming from my 100 plus Texas heat, it was awesome.

The food and drink: people warned us that the food wouldn’t be so hot.  I think they must have been in England, not Ireland.  Anne ate her weight in butter every day, on yummy brown breads and croissants.  Meself, it was the salmon that did it for me.  Smoked salmon on EVERY breakfast buffet, and options for salmon entrees each evening.  Salmon was what was missing on my knowledge of the island, and it was a revelation!  Salmon in the stained glass at the churches; salmon stories told by the tour guide. Salmon runs, salmon fishing tournaments, etc., etc., etc.

Ah well, back to the food.  Breakfast buffets always had the usual options for eggs, sausages, breads, cereals, fruits.  What interested me on this theme included “bacon” which was actually ham; the white and black puddings, which are some type of blood sausage; and the baked beans, grilled tomatoes, and sautéed mushrooms available each day, along with cold cuts and cheeses. Dinners always had appetizers (they call ‘em “starters”) four entrée choices with sides, and desserts; rarely was anything merely average.  Our lunches were usually a la carte at pubs, varying from Irish stews to fish and chips and various sandwiches, topped off with Guinness, of course.

Traditional Irish Black--White Pudding Recipe

Ingredients:

• 1 quarter pint of fresh pig's blood
• 8 oz. bread cut into cubes
• 1 quarter pint of skimmed milk
• 1 lb. cooked barley
• 1 lb. fresh beef suet
• 8 oz. of fine oatmeal
• 1 tsp. salt
• 2 tsps. ground black pepper
• 2 tsp. dried mint
• Directions:
  Put the bread cubes to soak in the milk in a warm oven. Do not heat the milk beyond blood temoerature. Have the blood ready in a large bowl, and pour the warm milk and bread into it. Stir in the cooked barley. Grate the beef suet into the mixture and stir it up with the oatmeal. Season with salt and pepper and mint.
  Have ready two or three large roasting pans. Divide the mixture between them, they shouldn't be more than three-quarters full. Bake in a moderate oven (350*F. for about an hour or until the pudding is well cooked through. This makes a beautifully light pudding, which will keep well in a cold cupboard or fridge.
  Cut into squares and fry until heated through and the outside is crisp, in bacon fat or butter.
  
  
  Serves Six It is normally fried and is an essential part of a traditional Irish breakfast. Or-- for supper with fried apples and mashed potatoes.
  
  
  WHITE PUDDING- White pudding is a variety made without blood, but using minced liver instead.. 

The ecology section: Tempered by the Gulf Stream, Ireland may have rain, but rarely cold weather – until this February, when they got over a foot of snow, which clung for days, which caused floods and killed the palm trees.  Yes, the palm trees.  Who knew?

And for those of you who know rhododendrons, and love their glorious bloom: they are an invasive species in Ireland, growing to huge heights, crowding out the natives, and causing all manner of national effort to eradicate them.  They are so thick in the wild areas that you can’t see the trees.  Amazing, but just one more example of a non-native escaping and naturalizing to the detriment of the true natives. (Master Gardener note - do I get intern credit for noticing all this? tee hee)

I made an effort to catalog everything blooming.  This is the end of August, remember, and most of this stuff wilts from the heat in February in Texas.  Hydrangeas of all varieties absolutely in every yard, public space, etc.  Petunias, violas, yuccas, sedums, daisies, poppies, roses, geraniums, queen anne’s lace, lamb’s ears, dusty miller, heather, gorse, liatris/loosestrife, wild carrot, stargazer lilies, gunnera (sp), agapanthus, hogweed (cow parsnip?) monbresia, thistle.

Critters: there are 800 Irish deer still around, but we didn’t see them.  Never saw squirrels or other small wild things.  Birds a plenty, and I’m going to have to find a European book to check some out, since they didn’t look like some I know.  Cattle and sheep abounded, of course. And dogs were in abundance.  Lots of folks trotting around in every town and village walking their best friends, playing on the grounds of hotels, getting on busses, sitting outside in the sun.  And every hotel had a statue, actually a bank, of a full sized Labrador, with a sign asking for donations to the assistance dog fund. 

Okay, I guess it’s time to start the day to day events.
Day 1 – Dinah the travel agent drove us to the Indy airport, where we were surprised by cousin Dorothy Mack, who popped in to give us a sendoff!  We got to the airport early enough to get an earlier flight, which allowed a bit more time between flights in Philadelphia.  And then we boarded the plane.  For those of you who had not heard me crowing for weeks, we flew first class. Both ways.  My sainted mother and grandmother were probably spinning in their graves about the cost, but honestly, I hope never to fly that long again in anything else.  Leg room! And the food!  Anne had one of the best steaks she has ever eaten (she swears it) ON THE PLANE. And of course, they gave me free booze, so it was foregone that I’d like the flight… The menus we had on board (yes, we had options) were bilingual in English and Gaelic, our first indication that we weren’t in Kansas anymore.  Failte ramhat ar bord – Welcome aboard!  Okay, here’s my dinner: warmed nuts and wine for cocktails; the appetizer was sesame and soy marinated beef with Asian slaw; the entrée was shrimp with sundried tomatoes and herbs in orzo, with cheese and fruit for dessert (with more wine, of course).  And 6 hours later, I had oj, tea, chocolate croissant, fruit, and quiche for breakfast.  What’s not to love?  And Cabal gals, I have added to my purse accessories – the first class folk got little clear travel kits, so I have 2 more!

Day 2 – Landing with Jet Lag.  Arrived in Dublin, sat at the coffee shop in airport till more of our group arrived.  Then we met Sean, our driver, and had a looooonnnnnnggggg walk to the bus parking lot.  Got to the hotel, and had one of the few snags of the trip.  We were there before noon, people hadn’t checked out yet, and the rooms weren’t ready.  Everyone had to sit in the lobby/bar area for 2 hours when all we wanted was to crash somewhere. Anne and I opted for Mass at Blackfriars a few blocks away; virtue has its own rewards.  At 2, we were guided into the bus for a driving tour of Dublin.  Some snored, but we passed statues of Molly Malone, Oscar Wilde, saw the River Liffey, etc.  Stopped at Trinity College, where we got in line for the Book of Kells, which was really cool to see in real life.  Walked through the library above the Book room, and viewed tons of busts of famous Irish folk.  My back started hurting some, darn it.

 

At 5:30, we were back at the hotel, rooms and baggage procured, for a get acquainted cocktail.  Intros all around, Marlene gave us our marching orders, and we had dinner at the hotel bar – fish cakes and flan – and Jameson! Then a very early bedtime, which gave us the strength to bounce up for

Day 3 – Crossing the Island. No rain! Breakfast as noted above, but I had my very own teapot with loose tea in a wonderful strainer that came with the pot.  Thought I died and went to heaven (never got another like it the whole trip).  On the bus at 8, where we awaited the couple from Baltimore, who had missed their connection the day before.  They arrived by taxi within 20 minutes, and we were off to Strokestown Manor, an estate in County Roscommon.  This was our first chance to travel roads that were not multi-lane like our interstates, and it was a revelation in itself.  No shoulders on the roads, and the lane widths are NOT 1.5 car widths, but just about the width of vehicles themselves.  Day after day, it was a wide-eyed experience to have our tour bus passing not only cars, but trucks, tractors, or other busses. And if they were doing road work, well, Katie bar the door.

The manor house was 18^th century, and had its original furnishings, including an amazing kitchen.  We also happened upon the BBC filming that day, so we stood in for parts of their taping as audience (look for us on a PBS station near you!)  Also on the grounds was the Famine Museum, a very moving tour through the history of the potato famine.  Again, we were in luck with the BBC; instead of a walk-through reading the wall plaques, we got the tour from the museum director.  It was one of Anne’s fav places for the whole tour.  She had known of the famine peripherally, and the detail provided gave her a true understanding of the enormity of the disruption, and the ensuing diaspora of half of the population. (prior to famine, Ireland had 8 million folk – between starvation and migration, it went down to 4)  This particular estate solved their problem; they hired four leaky ships and sent most of their tenants to Canada.  Half died, but they didn’t have to worry about feeding them.  If you saw Rosie O’Donnell’s segment on the tv show “Who do you think you are?” you know about the famine workhouses.  Families were separated by sex and age, but at least they were fed.  And other folk went to jail intentionally so they could eat.  What a system.  The Quakers came for a few years with soup kitchens, but left because the Brits were so inhospitable and of no assistance – even stymieing charity efforts.

Gardens at Strokestown

Strokestown Interiors

The Famine Museum wasn’t exclusively about
the Irish famine; they had photos and reminders
of Somalia, Biafra, and other famine-struck countries. 
It happens all the time, and people need help everywhere.

Strokestown Exteriors

After lunch of soup and bread (and butter and tea), and a tour of the restored gardens, we drove to Galway, with another break for ATM cash and Cruncheez, a candy bar of great popularity.  Nearly everyone on the bus tried it.  The rest had ice cream.  Ice cream, by the way, was sold everywhere, and there were always people on the street eating cones or dishes or ice cream bars. Moving on, we began to see destroyed abbeys from the time of Henry VIII.  Churches were kept and converted to the “new religion” so the Norman architecture still existed on those.  Most of the churches have since gone back to Roman, with some notable exceptions.

The Bookie at the Bookie's!

We got to Galway (the town of tribes) in time to get into a massive road construction project, so we crawled to our hotel.  It gave Marlene a chance to discuss the current economic situation (14 percent unemployment, the banks brought low by speculative builders, a million housing units unsold, government bailed the banks to the tune of 3 trillion – sound familiar?)  It was about here that we began to notice that Marlene, indeed everyone we met, tended to be very aware of both history and current events, and very political.  And while we were crawling by houses, I asked Marlene about one with a sign reading “Cuchulain,” so she gave us the legend of Cuchulain, since she had time on her hands.   I told her not to forget to give us Brian Boru later, and she obliged in a few days.

We stayed in our hotel 2 nights in Galway, so we unpacked and dined at the hotel.  Won’t bore you with the details of what I ate, since I didn’t write it down, but I’m pretty sure that was the night of the lamb shanks, and they were exquisitely tender!  However, the room gave us another intro to the world of “green.” Had not seen this innovation before – your room keycard was needed to activate the lights in the room; it fitted in a slot right by the door, so you also always knew where your key was when you left, as long as there was only one key.  And it was the first time I used a toilet that had the “number one” and “number two” buttons to choose from!  There were other “Euro-style” touches as well, particularly in the bathrooms we visited, but Anne was continually non-plussed that there were usually no electric plugs by the mirrors.  How is one supposed to use a curling iron without a mirror?  Decided they needed hints from the Yanks on that item.

Day 4 – Connemara, Fjord, etc.  We both had trouble sleeping the first night in Galway, but so did everyone.  Still dealing with the jet lag, there was a lot of napping on the bus between stops. Breakfast was the usual sumptuous buffet, so it was a good thing I was upping my fruit quotient along with the rest of the items I was stuffing down my gullet.  Anne sensibly continued to stick to a pound of butter and a loaf of bread, mostly!

Connemara Quarries

Loogootee Tribune visits Ireland

First stop today was the Connemara Marble Visitor Center.  Anne and I did our “Around the World with the Loogootee Tribune” shot here.  The quarries were nowhere in sight, but the workshop was quite interesting.  Our speaker was a guy named Ambrose (no relation to our ancestor) and he did a lovely job, intriguing us all enough so that we spent lots in the gift shop. The quarries are now only used for extremely high end flooring and things like cathedrals, but they use all the smaller bits for stuff like jewelry and souvenirs.

Anne at the hob

The restrooms were in a building across the street, and normally we would have had a lunch there, but there was a schedule conflict.  We got to see the lovely furnishings and the old-fashioned hearth, though.  Another amusing thing was that we had crossing guards.  The highway is so busy there, that they employ two young gents to guide us tourists so we don’t get run over.  It felt like first grade again.

At the Fjord

Can you say "Library" in Gaelic?

Kylemore Abbey

Next stop was Killary Harbour, a 9-mile fjord carved by the last ice age.  We boarded a catamaran (enclosed) and had a rather desultory lunch (white bread sandwiches, for goodness sakes, and cold apple tart).  The voyage up and down the fjord was lovely, though, and dear Marlene was beside herself about the lunch (it was part of that scheduling issue that was a mixup).  We saw mussel and salmon farms within the fjord.  We stopped at Kylemore Abbey Visitor Centre and then Spideal (pronounced spittle) for a short break before heading back to Galway. We are in the Gaeltacht (Gaelic speaking area) this whole time, and while buying an ice cream, I listened to the cashier and a customer gab away in Gaelic.  Heaven!  Haven’t yet mentioned that all the signs are bilingual; Gaelic isn’t an “official” language like French is in Quebec, but you’d never know it.  I managed to improve my pronunciations considerably, but I’ve a long way to go. Marlene conveniently handed out a list of words and phrases for my edification.This area is also where we began to see lots of the peat bogs, with peat cut and stacked and people loading it to take home.  The area is known as The Burren. The bogs are public lands, and folks lease plots where they can cut. They tend to use it more like we use our wood fireplaces, more like atmosphere and coziness. Peat is also used in a couple of power plant companies.  Since it’s a non-renewable resource, that may be problematic down the road, I thought.  But I also saw several of the new style windmills, so they are looking ahead.

Anne on Galway Bay

We returned to Galway and passed the areas of Salt Hill and Claddagh.  Back in the 15^th century, the Spanish regularly visited this port area for trade, and the “Spanish Gate” is still one of the sites.  St. Nicholas Church is close by, and the story goes that Columbus stopped there on his way to the new world to snitch the map made by St. Brendon the Navigator so he could successfully cross the Atlantic!

From the hotel, Anne and I strolled past Eyre Square (official name: John F. Kennedy Memorial Park) and into a short stretch of Shop Street.  Returning through a mall, we saw one of the pedicure places that has the little fish in aquarium tanks that you put your feet in so they can nibble all the dead skin off.  There were several people taking advantage of the service…including a college-age guy who, from the looks of his feet, were giving the fish a run for their money – gross.

For dinner, I had duck, always a treat for me.  Most of the group headed for a show; we boarded a bus, and the show started with Ray the driver.  He was a total riot, joking from the moment we got on till we got off, and he continued on when he picked us up afterward.  There are a lot of “roundabout” circle roads in Ireland, and on the way to the show, he was busy singing and telling a story, so we made a roundabout 3 times before he headed on.The show was “Trad on the Prom” meaning, “Tradition on the Promenade”.  One of the major Riverdance instrumentalists had tired of so much travel, and put a group together to perform regularly at this hotel in Salt Hill. They’ve been doing it for 11 years now. The instrumentals, singing, and dancing were all in the classic style, and were all most excellent.  The room was full of tour groups from all over the world of course, and the video screens provided translations in half a dozen languages, which was a very nice touch.  The seating was flat on the floor, and in standard chairs, so I was standing a lot.  My back suffered from the chairs, but I got better views of the foot work anyway, and by the end of the show, there were a lot of folks hugging the walls with me.  This show goes on in the summer months, and if anyone plans a trip, make sure to take this one in.  It was a highlight for me. Bed at 11:30, up next day at 5:30, for

Day 5 – The Cliffs of Moher.  Lots of things going on today.  Marlene discussed the history of the Irish “Travelers”.  If any of you have watched the series, “My big fat Gypsy wedding,” you know the group.  The Irish gypsies aren’t Romany, they are descendants of the residents displaced originally by King Henry VIII during the upheavals with the new religion.  These folks, rather than emigrating like in later famine times, just became permanent travelers, in Gypsy carts, and these days, in motor homes.  Barricades are everywhere in lanes and fields to keep the higher traveler wagons from going in them and squatting. 

The Cliffs of Moher

Windy Cliffs of Moher

We passed Kinvarra, a Norman castle, and began to see thatched houses.  Marlene had a way with a joke, and we passed quite a time discussing a town that had an annual hooker festival.  (Hookers are small fishing boats!)  We also learned that we had spent the night before having Craic, pronounced “crack”.  Craic means fun, laughter, singing, good times.  So we had a lot of craic the rest of the trip.  Marlene also started rolling out the cds, beginning with an Irish Tenor.  Anne and I and a couple of others sang along to Galway Bay and Irish Lullaby. The Cliffs of Moher were stunning, and the visitor center there was exceedingly well done, handling loads of tourists of the individual and bus tour varieties with amazing ease.  I finally conceded and drug out my cane, because to get the best views of the cliffs, you needed to do a serious hike.  We were nearly ready to head for the bus and had just stepped out of the gift shop when we got a squall.  You guessed it – five minutes later it was over, and we walked to the bus.

We didn’t have a proper lunch time due to the schedule, but Marlene had warned us, and everyone had squirreled fruit, bread, cheese, candy, etc. from breakfast and the gift shop, so we picnicked on the bus.  I must confess, thanks to Dinah the US tour agent, we had been instructed to get Irish chocolate candy.  Anne was testing every variety she could get her hands on, but ONLY if they were made in Ireland.  She had her hands (and tummy) full doing all that serious work!

Our next stop was our true one-time rain out.  Adare was a lovely little town with the requisite castle/manor house, along with a full string of thatched cottages.  One of our NYC couples had cousins that they had visited the previous day (they went to the apparition in Knock) but Adare’s castle had belonged to Kathy Fitzgerald’s ancestors.  We got out of the bus and into the visitor center, and the skies opened.  Think of blizzards where you can’t see in front of you – that was the rain.  And it lasted the entire time we were there, stopping only when we were to get back on the bus.  Marlene was SO upset, but we all told her we had expected that sort of thing from day 1 and it had only happened once.  Leaving the parking lot, we had to get through a major traffic jam, caused by one double-parked car.  Traffic was backed up in both directions for 2 miles.  Several gents looked as if they were contemplating picking the car up by hand and moving it!

Mottola at the Cliffs of Moher

Still hugging the coastline, we passed several round towers (including one at the Cliffs) called mottolas.  They were reproductions of weapon/guard towers around Galway Bay.  The name came from a town in Corsica.  Quite picturesque.  We also got another language lesson, with Inishmore, Inishman, and Insiheer in the distance off the coast.  “Inish” means “island” and “mor” means “big”.  “Kill” means church, so that’s why there are so many towns and sites starting with Kill, since they were all built around churches.

About this time, Marlene started in on Sean Connery.  “Wouldn’t you smother your granny for him?” Had us roaring.  And then she started on about weddings, and how she wanted to have her daughter married so she could wear a hat.  Her daughter and honey have 2 children now, and she’s still waiting to buy a hat.  She’s also looking for a 90 year old rich man with a cough who might want to get married….

Druid Stones - Beware!

Then there is the hawthorn tree.  Ireland, it seems, still harbors some series reservations about upsetting the wee folk.  An international construction company was contracted to build an interstate.  There was a hawthorn tree in the middle of the right of way.  No Irish person could be found who was willing to let the hawthorn, particularly a lone hawthorn, be cut down – curses were sure to rain down, and didn’t everyone have at least one story about such a case?  (John DeLorean did it after he launched his gull-wing car, and two years later, he was bankrupt.  So there!) The road company took it to court, and the Judge ruled to save the tree.  We passed the tree, which proudly stood in a stretch of highway where they split the lanes to accommodate it. So all ye who know of Hawthorne’s beware!

Killarney – the Brehon hotel was lovely upon arrival, and the weather held.  Our merry crew hopped onto “Jaunting Cars” i.e., horse-drawn wagons for the trip to Muckross House, an estate in the middle of a national park.  Each wagon held one authentic Irish drover, and ours talked so fast and with so thick an accent, even I, who perched next to him on the driver’s seat, could barely understand him.  Quite the country man.

Muckross house had lovely gardens, and we toured them while waiting our turn for the tour.  Queen Victoria had visited 150 years ago (the anniversary was on the Saturday of our trip) and the preparations for that visit had lasted several years and actually bankrupted the family hosting.  But the house was restored to its Victorian high spot, and we obediently trotted around.  Some of the tour group were a little stunned at all the deer and animal skulls and a few stuffed critters, but it looked pretty Texan to me…Dinner consisted of Parma ham salad, a lovely chicken dish, and a shared cabernet with Don from Baltimore.  We called it an early night, since again, we had an early rising.

Day 6 – Ring of Kerry.  We slept well, rising to a cool, damp day (what did you expect?)  I was in agony – lost a bracelet I had just bought at the Cliffs.  Marlene and Sean found it on the bus, hallelujah!  Breakfast was quite good, but I thought the room smelled off – Anne said it was probably some weird spice or something.  Marlene called this particular hotel the “place with the one-sided pancakes.”  For some reason, they had small pancakes, but they weren’t browned on one side.  Looked rather like flat cooked eggs.  Didn’t bother to try them. 

Skellig Monk Huts

Portmagee Harbour

This was mostly a day for being on the bus, since we were doing the Ring of Kerry, kind of a circular road tour. The bus headed up the Gap of Dunloe to stop at a shopping spot that carried traditionally crafted items, and folks accordingly tried to help the local economy.  Anne got a lovely sweater.  I bought chocolate, I think (it’s gone now, can’t quite remember…)  From there, we headed out, and saw our first Druid stones by the road side.  Then it was Dingle Bay, where some of the ships from the destroyed Spanish Armada managed to crawl into, where they sank.  The horses on the ships swam ashore, and those Arabians mingled with the native stock to create the Irish racehorses of today.  We passed a huge statue/fresco/plaque of St. Brendan the Navigator with his men in their little curragh, sailing to the new world, and then O’Donnell’s birthplace (He’s the guy that got the Catholics back their right to worship as Roman. The main street in Dublin is O’Donnell Street, and nearly every town honors him some way).Then we came to one of my very favorite stops.  Portmagee is a little town with one very special advantage – it hosts the Skellig Experience, a visitor center that tells about the monks who came to that isolated spot, and created a monastic community out of the solid rock of the Skellig Islands.  Their huts look like large stone bee skeps, and they had to carve hundreds of steps out of the stone to get around.  Truly forbidding, and a true example of the incredible dedication to their desire to be closer to God through their calling.

The Moorings pub in Portmagee was where we ate lunch, and it had a great seafood chowder, washed down by Guinness, of course.  Anne won a drawing they had for the group, and was given a local specialty – a selection of Skellig chocolates.  With that, the group was off and running all over town to haul in more Skellig chocolate.  I’m sure we got every flavor to be had, including a lovely orange fudge that Anne and I nearly had orgasms over – and which we could not find anywhere afterwards.

We had a short photo stop at a mountain pass, 700’ up, where we looked down over a round stone ruin of a fort, and the bay a few short steps behind us.  The wind was so fierce, it was hard to stand!  Our next break stop was in Sneem, where the little river flowing through town had a salmon ladder.  Marlene popped a cd of the High Kings on, and we had merry music for a while.

Tonight’s dinner was at Killeen House (across the street from a church, remember your language lesson?).  It’s a guest house and restaurant, and absolutely lovely.  I had a chicken with balsamic in a phyllo basket for a starter, a coconut sorbet, the salmon, and bread pudding, with lots of lovely wine.  A great ending to a very eventful day.

Day 7 – Full of Blarney.  Glorious sun, a cool day.  We’re now skirting the southern tip of the island, a hotbed of rebellion for hundreds of years.  “The Wind that Shakes the Barley” is one of the movies that Marlene mentioned that particularly covers this period, as does “Ryan’s Daughter.” Marlene related the Battle of Kinsale, followed by the Plantation of Northern Ireland by lowland Scots, who were Presbyterian.  You ended up of course, with the mishmash mess of sectarianism in Northern Ireland today, with various protestant groups in uneasy truce with the Romans.  Things are stable enough these days that C.I.E. actually runs their tour buses up to Northern Ireland.  After all the Troubles, that has to be considered a sign of progress.

We had a short stop at Macroom to photo Macroom Castle, where our own William Penn was born.  Then we hit Blarney, which included the Castle, of course, the manor house, and the Blarney Mills outlet.  Anne blew the Stone a kiss; neither she nor I cared to trek the 109 steps up and down to get to it.  I was in rapture over the Poison Garden, a collection of herbs that could be used to cure – or kill, depending upon your inclination.  Anne kept muttering – that’s poisonous?

We had a cuppa and a scone in the stables, and then headed for some serious shopping.  We really hit it big at the Outlet, and I finally found a 3X for my hubby, along with a onesie that looked like the Irish National team uniform for my nephew-to-be Declan. (November 9 is his date!)  Then I had a milkshake to celebrate, and we basked, yes, basked in the sun till time for the bus.

Blarney Castle and Manor House

Another site, another language lesson on town names: Cork = Corcaigh, meaning “marsh” and pronounced Korkey in Gaelic.  Cobh = Cove.  Youghall is pronounced, y’all.  (I told her the plural – all y’all) And Marlene explained how she knew which cars were driven by tourists in rentals.  All Irish license plates have the model year first, followed by initials designating the county or major city, followed by a specific number.  I.e., 04-KY-69875 means it’s a 2004 model, from Kerry.  Due to the economy, nobody has a new car except the rentals, so any license with a 10 or an 11 has to be a tourist!

Marine Bar

We stopped at the Marine Bar, which was nowhere near water, but I had a glass or two of the water of life while everyone else drank theirs in Irish coffee.  Then Christie, the publican, gave us a singalong while he played the guitar.  As we left, the clouds rolled in.  We passed a cemetery and Marlene explained what a “dead ringer” was.  People were dying and falling into comas, and being buried quickly.  Graves were dug finding where people had come to and tried to claw out.  So they began burying folk with a string running from their hand to a bell at the top.  If there was movement in the coffin, the bell rang.  And that’s how Irish wakes began – someone sitting up all night with the body to make sure they were well and truly dead! 

Made it to Waterford, probably my favorite city of the trip.  It’s a Viking town, settled nearly as early as Dublin.  Loads of architecturally significant stuff around.  We stayed at the Granville, right on the harbor, and as our luck would have it, we had probably the best room of the group – top floor, balcony over the water.  Only drawback was the elevator, which was exceedingly tiny and the only one.  The poor bellhops loaded everyone’s luggage in it by stacking it to the top in rows and then squeezing in to go up.  After one trip in it, I chose the stairs, even with my knee.

About this time, we learned of the arrival of the hurricane on the east coast.  The New Zealanders were going to London, and the Florida folk to Germany, but the rest of us were headed into what might be serious trouble in a couple of days.  The Philadelphia trio checked the web, since they were leaving a day ahead of everyone else, and found their flight cancelled.  I think everyone quietly made arrangements to watch, and wait, and pray.

Dinner was a great Irish stew –oh, and here I need to mention the fact that for some reason, the Irish are extremely fond of puree, to the point where most every soup, chowder or stew is a blend and the ingredients totally unrecognizable for their individual merits.  I only got one stew that had chunks the whole time.  So, my “white” Irish stew had the meat minced extremely fine.  It was delish, just sort of odd.  No “open wide for chunky” here. After dinner, we headed upstairs to the Parnell room (another Irish patriot, ya know) to meet Jack, a geographic historian by trade.  He regaled us with the tales of the early Viking/English/Irish interaction by use of various tour group members as brides, kings, and mercenaries.  One such mercenary, who married in, was the excuse England used later to claim reason to take over the fair isle.  Slim rationale, but successful.  After the storytelling, Jack led us around town to some of the architecturally significant spots. 

Day 8 – Not Done Yet. Excellent breakfast, more salmon, more bread, more butter, more tea!  Off to tour the Waterford Visitor Center and the factory walk.  For those never seeing glass blowers at work, it’s a rewarding trip.  I was thrilled to see the ATP (tennis) trophies that will be awarded at the end of the season next month to the men’s singles and doubles winners.  They also had a gorgeous vase with a Christmas tree on it I coveted, and a lighthouse for sister Jayma.  I even saw a football helmet for the MVP for the NFL – it was only $17,000 Euros.

Anne and Paula at Fitzgerald's of Bally K

Having a pint at Fitzgerald's

On the bus again, Marlene gave me some great genealogy contacts for continuing the family searches. And I found a town in Northern Ireland on the map named Omagh, which may be a clue for one of dad’s ancestors. But the family history had to wait, because by now, we arrived at AVOCA, the setting for Ballykissangel, one of the BBC’s most successful tv series, and Anne’s all-time favorite show.  She waxed beatifically over the pub, the bridge, the church, all the sites for the show.  The pub walls, where we ate lunch (a great “brown” stew with chunks in it!) had photos of the series actors and their comments about the show, and a flat screen ran episodes.  It was definitely one of Anne’s top spots.

Bally K Church at Avoca

Then we hit Glendalough, another abbey devastated by Henry.  We had an excellent young tour guide, and if I had been by meself, I probably would have grilled him for a couple of hours, medievalist that I am.  The visitor center had a wonderful interpretive area that I could also have stayed in a while.  Both here and at Skellig I tried to get copies of their DVD that they showed, and of course, they didn’t sell them.  Sigh.  But even so, and even with rain that started on us (for shame! Before we got on the bus!) It was great, another of my favorites. 

Glendalough Church

Glendalough Round Tower

 We arrived at Dublin once again, taking a short detour to drive past the church where Mike, one of the Kiwis, was able to see where his parents had been married many years before.  So thoughtful of Sean and Marlene!  Our hotel on Stillorgan Road (in Dun Laoghaire, pronounced dun leary) was out from the city center, but was also one of the loveliest.  It was an old estate, with lovely grounds (and a wedding going on as an example of how lovely).  Our dinner was at Taylor’s Three Rock, evidently quite a major tourist stop.  We were one of about 16 tour buses for dinner (must have jammed about 400 or so in the place.)  Nearly everyone loved the singing, dancing, and the comedian.  Alas, I wasn’t one of them.  For me, it was a little too much stage business and not enough traditional.  I likened it to Disneyworld.  I know, I’m crabbing, but after all the wonderful stuff I had done, this saddened me.  I have performed enough and done enough of the stage bits myself to know how artificial it can be, and I just didn’t enjoy it.  And the food was so mediocre – I had to go for my 3^rd choice of wine, and the wines were on the menu to choose from.  Pooh.

Day 9 – Last day in Dublin. This was a free day for those staying over.  The hurricane had by now moved past North Carolina, so Anne and I were pretty happy, since that’s where we were flying.  The NYC folk were still in a holding pattern. 

It was my last time for salmon at breakfast, so I did my best to hold my own.  We had shuttle passes to town, and Marlene was there for the last time to see us off.  We had passes as well for the Hop On Hop Off buses, and our first stop was Mass.  We hit a lovely Baroque church (wasn’t a cathedral, but it was grand enough) in time for the Sung Mass as they called it.  The entrance, recessional, and responsorial were in English, but the rest, including the Credo, were sung by a 14 member choir, who did them in Latin using a Baroque period Mass.  It was heaven – I told Anne I was NOT going back, I was going to live in the loft and sing with the choir.  After mass, the congregation applauded, something I haven’t seen since I sang with the Diocesan Choir in Houston.  And then we got an organ recital. 

Spoiled, spoiled – I am so spoiled. Left the church, grabbed the bus, did the full circuit, and ended at our bus stop to go back to the hotel.  Headed in to the Orangerie, their lovely glass-walled bar, where we noticed a group having high tea.  So we did as well, and Anne got her clotted cream, for which she had lusted (and mentioned) even before we left the states.  Donegal was playing Dublin for the national semi-finals, and everyone in the place had their eyes on the flat screen, shifting to the lovely view of the gardens only when there was a time-out. (Dublin won). 

We had a wake-up call at 4 am.  Taxi pick up at 5, into the airport, where we headed for “Pre-Clearance”.  Turns out that the US has a customs procedure at Dublin, so we didn’t go through customs when we landed in the US.  It was weird going through emigration for Ireland and then 10 minutes later doing immigration for the US.  Only the US made us take our shoes off.  Oh, and then there was the little weirdness, due to my total forgetfulness.  I had carefully packed ALL my souvenirs into my backpack, so I could pull them out easily if need be.  I neglected to remember that I had a metal bottle opener, a cheese knife, and two cigarette lighters in there.  And I made it through every single checkpoint with no questions.  Either I didn’t fit the terrorist profile, or my folded up cane blocked the view on the camera.

Dorothy Mack welcomes us back

Flight home, luxurious again.  The appetizer was a chicken on a stick like no other I ever had, and enough to make a full meal.  There was also a roasted red pepper with cream cheese that had Anne in rapture.  And then there was the entrée, which by that time we were already almost dreading because we were full from the champagne, the nuts, the wine, (oh, you get it, right?) and Anne wanted to save room for dessert.  Then before we landed, we got fed again.  I shared mine all with Anne (a lovely bruschetta/pizza thingee, salad, etc., etc. and dessert, of course) since she was too full to get anything herself (tee hee). 

Landed in Charlotte, no surprises, and Anne bought a TCBY, since she had refrained from the ice cream in favor of chocolate the whole trip.  We made our first phone calls since leaving, then headed for Indy.  And there in the terminal to greet us upon arrival was darlin’ cousin Dorothy again!  Dinah pulled up to haul us home, and a merry chatter filled the car the entire trip.And so we end.  A million thanks to Anne for sharing this wonderful journey to the old sod, and to my darlin’ boy Hank, who stayed home to guard the castle and feed the livestock.