Nine Months Later...

Thinking back on Ireland nine months ago now, It's the conversations that I remember most fondly. Sitting with Kathleen and Patrick and the other guests in Glengarriff. Talking to the gents in Castletownhend. All the good people who took the time to draw us out of our shell.

Back in Castletownbere, I picked up a book in McCarthy's Bar with the unexpected title of "McCarthy's Bar." It followed the story of an Irishman, born and raised in England, trying to determine what it was that made the Irish unique and spoke to him through his ancestors. He was desperate to avoid the cliches of Leprechauns, The Quiet Man and Celtic New Age blather. At the end of the book, he answers an ad from an in-flight magazine for people who want to open an Irish pub anywhere in the world. At a warehouse in Dublin, he wanders through aisles of actual Irish pub paraphernalia, cast off by real pubs as they change their look to suit younger clientele. The owner of the franchise explains that the Irish pub is popular worldwide. From Tokyo to Bucharest, people are looking for a place where strangers are invited in to the conversation and your only as alone as you want to be. I figure he's got to right. Where I used to see the "Irish" pubs in town as a marketing gimmick, now I look at them and wonder, if I were to ask for a pint at the counter, would someone ask me who I am, where I'm from, and what I'm doing there. If they do, I promise I won't mind. Really.

Three Months Later...

15 June 5:30 Dublin/12:30 EST

We're finally on our flight back. It sounds odd to be relieved that we are coming home from vacation, but given all the grief we experienced on our flight out, it's a relief to be airborne. Mind you this is a pretty turbulent flight which is making for some interesting typos. I'll have to run spellcheck when I'm finished.

Globespan continues to surprise. As we were assembling to board the plane, it turns out that the same seats were sold to people travelling from both Dublin and Shannon so there was an awkward hour where passengers were seated by name. Barb's name was called in the first few but not me. I sat in the departure lounge wondering what would happen next. Soon there were eight of us left and I was wondering if I would need to hang out in Shannon while Barb rode home alone. Suddenly a flight attended trotted out of the plane and asked for passenger Williams. I get inside and find that Barb flagged somebody down and said "where's my husband?" Up to this point they thought she had flown alone and were going to give my seat to someone else. An hour later and they were fortunately able to accommodate everyone. given the mix-up of seats, they have made up for it by not charging for drinks, A nice surprise.

The Abbey in Ennis

To be blunt, we got off the bus with the desire to get the hell out of Killarney. With our flight home coming in a few days, we thought it a good idea to base ourselves near Shannon airport. Our guidebook recommended the town of Ennis, so we stayed there. Ennis is a university town and not dependant on tourists. Nevertheless it has another evocative ruined abbey at it's centre and is lovely for walking around.

Barb and I had another wonderful meal at restaurant in the town. In Ireland, it's customary to go out for dinner relatively late (8pm or so). Restaurant owners, eager to get business at a more reasonable hour offer "early bird" specials that were a nice surprise. Also, being the only diners there, we had a great conversation with our server/restaurant co-owner.

From the Sublime to the Ridiculous

After three days in Glengariff we went North and West. The Ring of Kerry is world renown for it's scenery and we didn't want to pass it by. Problem is, it's so famous that it's filled with cars and tourist coaches as well. Driving on winding roads while avoiding monster sized buses was just too much. So we decided to buy seats on one of the coaches and stay in the launching base, Killarney. What can we say? Imagine the Wisconsin Dells or Niagara falls before the casinos. Compared to all the beauty and charm of our experience in Ireland so far, Killarney was a leering leprechaun on black velvet. The downtown "pubs" were decorated floor to ceiling with police ballcaps and patches from every American city in the Northeast. I didn't hear an Irish accent that wasn't behind a bar. Every day the 10 cities in 12 days tours deposited another batch of bleary tourists. It's such a shame that this is the only vision of Ireland that they would see.

We stayed in a bed and breakfast that was closer to a Super 8 on the main drag with bumper to bumper travel coaches.

The next morning we hopped on to the day long tour coach (surprisingly cheap) and spent the day living the package tour life. The scenery was lovely though marred by cheesy Celtic music piped too loudly through the bus speakers. We had a stop every 45 minutes to help the small bladder set. Each stop included an opportunity to pay for an exhibit and our bus pulled in alongside 5-10 others. By the end though, we had seen enough car/bus near misses that we were happy to have relaxed on the bus.

Ireland where it never freezes

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Kathleen and Pat kept this amazing garden at our B&B. This was the view out of our room.

Right about this spot...

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Barb stopped having fun. You can see all the fun twists and turns that we had just been through down in the valley.

It was on the ring of Beara drive that Barb decided that her love of Irish driving had it's limits. True, she had found the unbelievably narrow roads with no shoulders nerve racking (and the accompanying 100 kph speed limits hilarious). However, the 100 kph, narrow road with no shoulder climb to one of the highest mountain passes in the rain was no fun at all. The barrier to going over the edge was a curb of stone about 10 inches high. Not a confidence inspiring sight. Me? I'm a fatalist so I took pictures and offered words of encouragement. I offered to drive, but the thought of being a passenger with a side-on view of the abyss was even more upsetting. I got lots of pictures but none of them are of Barb smiling.

We did get to see some beautiful towns and the rural Ireland that everyone talks about. In small towns like Castletownbere, the length of time it takes to pour a pint (about three minutes) is the time that you'll be asked where you're from, why you're here and how you're doing. Not that it's nosy, you are just being invited into the conversation taking place around the bar. If you sit at a table, everyone will leave you alone. Thinking back on it now, I wish we had known that from the beginning, we would have spent a lot more time at the bar in conversation.

A famine house

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As you can see Fuchsia grows as a weed in Ireland

Since there is almost no public land in Ireland, any hike involves crossing the property of others. There is much more of a walking culture here and landowners are very tolerant of walkers provided they follow some basic rules. No dogs (they spook the sheep), leave gates open or closed as you find them. If you are injured on their property, the owner assumes no liability. With that knowledge, I went through three different fences and began my climb.

Working my way past the first hedges and nettles, I found a pre-famine house. That's what they call the many homes abandoned during the famine years. Even today, the Irish population is still not as large as it was before the famine houses like these are not uncommon. Like any other Irish ruin, the stone walls were solid and covered with moss, vines and fuchsia, which grows wild here. Any trace of a roof must have disappeared years ago.

The hike up the hill offered some beautiful views and an opportunity to see sheep relatively up-close. I followed the paths they had worn on the ground and eventually arrived at the top and a cairn of stones left by other hikers. I saw great views of Bantry Bay. The sheep left souvenirs of their own all over the hill, but I was able to scrape those off when I returned.