8 June 2007, 10:15
Barb and I have repaired to the drawing room of the castle to read and to write our postcards.
Okay, I'll back up.
Once we got off the train, we caught a cab to pick up the car. Barb and I had been talking about driving in Ireland for a couple days, visualizing how you would turn left, turn right, go into a traffic circle, etc. I even drew it out on hotel stationary and followed the path with a penny (I drew my face on the right hand side of the penny to make it totally realistic). But now it was showtime. We decided to pay extra for automatic (a good idea), extra for two drivers, and extra for total insurance coverage (a really, really good idea).
So, to be nice, I offered to let Barb go first. She accepted happily and we started down the road. Within 5 minutes she was exhilarated and thrilled at her ability to drive on the left. I discovered what utter hell it is to be the passenger in the left hand seat. Sitting on the left, I felt like I should be in control of the car. Except that I wasn't. To further my unease, all the practice I had done in my head didn't take into account other drivers. At intersections, I spent a lot of time staring down the road, waiting for a car to come barreling along and broadside us (killing me first, since I'm in the death seat). Then we make the turn and I realize that I was looking down the wrong side of the road, and they would have come from the other direction.
Barb and I have compared notes and agreed that being a passenger is actually more nerve wracking than being a driver. As a result, I have graciously volunteered to be chauffeured this vacation.
So far we have been on the National main roads (nice two lane highways), National secondary roads (two lanes and narrow), regional roads (two lanes? Yeah, right!!) and roads (one lane and be prepared to back up). It was on the secondary and regional roads that I developed the fine art of cringing when Barb would slide to the shoulder as other cars came up at high speed. Problem is, there is no shoulder. The road either falls off two inches into the dirt, or some 100 year old brick wall is covered with vines and 4 inches from my window. I've gotten used to the sound of weeds brushing down the side of the car at 40 kph.
In one particularly narrow road in the town of Clonakilty, Barb got a little too close to the curb and WHACK!! the mirror of our car clipped the mirror of a parked car. Our mirror frame immediately slapped against the window (it was a folding mirror) but the glass was gone. Barb pulled over and I went up to see what damage we'd done to the other car. Fortunately, their mirror was the kind that would also bend outward (for just such a situation). I pushed it back into position and there was no marks. On the way back to our car, I found our mirror glass intact and was able to snap it back into place. Glad we bought the extra insurance or we'd be paranoid for the rest of the trip.
With the car, we spent a night in Ballyhassig and another night in Skibbereen. We've only travelled about 70 km from Cork but each day has been an adventure and I have lots to write. But for now, I am sitting in a castle built in the 1750's. It appears to be owned by a family that never threw anything away so I am surrounded by 250 years of paintings of ancestors, swords, dusty old animal heads and heraldic knick-knacks of every description.
When we were at the pub earlier, John from the village asked if we found the decor, "well, you know, tired." Absolutely, but it's wonderfully tired and I wouldn't trade it for a plain old hotel room for anything.
Our driving days have all sort of run together. We drive along narrow roads while I play navigator to the next site of interest. On the way to Skibbereen, we saw a stone circle from the stone age. Like Stonehenge (and Newgrange) it was aligned with the path of the sun through the year. On December 21 when you look between the two "Portal stones" the sun rises over an alter like flat stone. We also saw a wedge tomb which is another paleolithic burial site, this time a large Flat stone sitting atop other flat stones standing on end.
From more recent times, we seen the locations where the Spanish (in 1601) and the French (in 1796) tried to "liberate" Ireland. Had either succeeded, They would have had an excellent base to move on to invade England. After each failed attempt, England responded with more repressive acts against the Irish.
Skibbereen was the site of the worst suffering of the potato famine. The heritage centre there had an excellent exhibit on the potato blight, poverty and government inaction resulted in 28,000 deaths. Outside of town, on the ruin of a medieval abbey, about 10,000 were buried in mass graves.
Even more recently, we are in the heart of Michael Collins country. He was one of the leaders of the war of independence and apparently a genius of urban guerrilla warfare. He grew up in this area and his portrait hangs in the pub down the road.
Finally, we've been checking out the gardens at Ilnacullin. These are massive and beautifully laid out. Here in the South of Ireland, the average winter temperature is 10 Celsius and close to the ocean it never freezes. As a result, they successfully grow many tropical plants and it's not unusual to see palm trees in people's front yards. With the combination of mild temperatures and frequent rain and mist, it must take real talent to kill a plant here. Barb has seen some plants that she bought and couldn't make thrive in Toronto growing as weeds along the sides of the roads.
On the other hand, the constant damp ages everything. Vines, moulds and moss cover everything that isn't moving. I've seen tombstones that could pass for being 50-100 years old in North America that were for people who died in 2000.
Barb and I have repaired to the drawing room of the castle to read and to write our postcards.
Okay, I'll back up.
Once we got off the train, we caught a cab to pick up the car. Barb and I had been talking about driving in Ireland for a couple days, visualizing how you would turn left, turn right, go into a traffic circle, etc. I even drew it out on hotel stationary and followed the path with a penny (I drew my face on the right hand side of the penny to make it totally realistic). But now it was showtime. We decided to pay extra for automatic (a good idea), extra for two drivers, and extra for total insurance coverage (a really, really good idea).
So, to be nice, I offered to let Barb go first. She accepted happily and we started down the road. Within 5 minutes she was exhilarated and thrilled at her ability to drive on the left. I discovered what utter hell it is to be the passenger in the left hand seat. Sitting on the left, I felt like I should be in control of the car. Except that I wasn't. To further my unease, all the practice I had done in my head didn't take into account other drivers. At intersections, I spent a lot of time staring down the road, waiting for a car to come barreling along and broadside us (killing me first, since I'm in the death seat). Then we make the turn and I realize that I was looking down the wrong side of the road, and they would have come from the other direction.
Barb and I have compared notes and agreed that being a passenger is actually more nerve wracking than being a driver. As a result, I have graciously volunteered to be chauffeured this vacation.
So far we have been on the National main roads (nice two lane highways), National secondary roads (two lanes and narrow), regional roads (two lanes? Yeah, right!!) and roads (one lane and be prepared to back up). It was on the secondary and regional roads that I developed the fine art of cringing when Barb would slide to the shoulder as other cars came up at high speed. Problem is, there is no shoulder. The road either falls off two inches into the dirt, or some 100 year old brick wall is covered with vines and 4 inches from my window. I've gotten used to the sound of weeds brushing down the side of the car at 40 kph.
In one particularly narrow road in the town of Clonakilty, Barb got a little too close to the curb and WHACK!! the mirror of our car clipped the mirror of a parked car. Our mirror frame immediately slapped against the window (it was a folding mirror) but the glass was gone. Barb pulled over and I went up to see what damage we'd done to the other car. Fortunately, their mirror was the kind that would also bend outward (for just such a situation). I pushed it back into position and there was no marks. On the way back to our car, I found our mirror glass intact and was able to snap it back into place. Glad we bought the extra insurance or we'd be paranoid for the rest of the trip.
With the car, we spent a night in Ballyhassig and another night in Skibbereen. We've only travelled about 70 km from Cork but each day has been an adventure and I have lots to write. But for now, I am sitting in a castle built in the 1750's. It appears to be owned by a family that never threw anything away so I am surrounded by 250 years of paintings of ancestors, swords, dusty old animal heads and heraldic knick-knacks of every description.
When we were at the pub earlier, John from the village asked if we found the decor, "well, you know, tired." Absolutely, but it's wonderfully tired and I wouldn't trade it for a plain old hotel room for anything.
Our driving days have all sort of run together. We drive along narrow roads while I play navigator to the next site of interest. On the way to Skibbereen, we saw a stone circle from the stone age. Like Stonehenge (and Newgrange) it was aligned with the path of the sun through the year. On December 21 when you look between the two "Portal stones" the sun rises over an alter like flat stone. We also saw a wedge tomb which is another paleolithic burial site, this time a large Flat stone sitting atop other flat stones standing on end.
From more recent times, we seen the locations where the Spanish (in 1601) and the French (in 1796) tried to "liberate" Ireland. Had either succeeded, They would have had an excellent base to move on to invade England. After each failed attempt, England responded with more repressive acts against the Irish.
Skibbereen was the site of the worst suffering of the potato famine. The heritage centre there had an excellent exhibit on the potato blight, poverty and government inaction resulted in 28,000 deaths. Outside of town, on the ruin of a medieval abbey, about 10,000 were buried in mass graves.
Even more recently, we are in the heart of Michael Collins country. He was one of the leaders of the war of independence and apparently a genius of urban guerrilla warfare. He grew up in this area and his portrait hangs in the pub down the road.
Finally, we've been checking out the gardens at Ilnacullin. These are massive and beautifully laid out. Here in the South of Ireland, the average winter temperature is 10 Celsius and close to the ocean it never freezes. As a result, they successfully grow many tropical plants and it's not unusual to see palm trees in people's front yards. With the combination of mild temperatures and frequent rain and mist, it must take real talent to kill a plant here. Barb has seen some plants that she bought and couldn't make thrive in Toronto growing as weeds along the sides of the roads.
On the other hand, the constant damp ages everything. Vines, moulds and moss cover everything that isn't moving. I've seen tombstones that could pass for being 50-100 years old in North America that were for people who died in 2000.
1 comment:
is it time to come home yet? I can hear your cats from my house....
think how you will feel at Goderich this summer knowing you'd touched the real stuff of celts! (fyi they actually want me to mc again!) xxxx d and roo
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