Thursday May 22 - Back to Dublin

We sleep in and have breakfast late.  All we have to do today is drive!   Helen provides the usual spread: smoked salmon, scones baked fresh from her kitchen, oatmeal, fruit, clotted cream.
Eddie came over to our table to talk before we left.  Helen said, "He thinks the kitchen gets clean by waving a magic wand!"  He's a former engineer with the Irish military who'd been posted in Iraq and various other places.  He's well traveled and educated with much to say.

Eddie tells us there is a reason that Irishmen talk so much.  When two Irishmen meet on the street the dialogue will go something like this:

              "How are you?"
              "I'm fine thanks be to God.  And yourself?"
              "Myself as well, thanks be to God and the blessed Virgin Mother Mary."
              "Yes thanks be to God and the Blessed Virgin and St. Patrick."
              "Thanks be to God and the Blessed Virgin and St. Patrick and dear St. Brigid."  And it goes on and on like this through all the major Irish saints and the the list of minor saints as well.  And the reason for this being that as an occupied country for 800 years, the Irish people are aways afraid of being taken for an informant.  They go through the list to ensure that no Unionists, King's men or outsiders are listening, looking over their shoulder the whole time.  The informant, according to Eddie, is the person found with 54 stab wounds, that no one knows anything about, and is generally considered the worst case of suicide anywhere.

Another anecdote goes like this:  Asked by a stranger, "Is this the way to Dublin?" an Irishman might say, "Well you could get to Dublin from there, but that's not the way I'd go, but if you go over to the next village there's a man you could ask that might know."

Or:  "Did you sell that horse?"
        "I did yes."
        "How much did you get for it?"
        "Well not as much as you expected I would even though you never expected I would in the first place."

Or: "Did you speak to my man?"
       "My man spoke to your man and we'll meet at the usual time in the usual place."

The variations are endless and all conversations that would leave a stranger in the dark.   Eddie also gave us his take on the "Troubles" between England and Northern Ireland.   He said even his intelligent  friends in the North in Belfast still talk about keeping the British out and Americans think its all about the IRA and the British, but now the south of Ireland or "Nationalist Ireland," an independent state, sees the British as their best trade partners and allies.   In the north, still under British rule, there is strong antipathy between Protestant (ruling/privileged class) and the Catholic working class and oppressed minority.    During the 1950's, according to Eddie, the IRA split into two factions; those who would become armed militia and those who would become politicians.   Politicians sought peaceful means while militia sought to bomb and terrorize.   He described the internment camp for terrorists in Northern Ireland where the members of Sinn Fein were all studying and earning PhDs, while the protestant militia were all pumping iron and lifting weights.   It is complex complex social fabric that I don't even pretend to understand.

Nationalist Ireland appears to be a strong supporter of civil liberties.  Eddie says there will be a vote for same sex marriage next year which has 70% support - amazing for a predominantly Catholic country.   The environmental movement seems very active as well - no doubt due to their status as an island nation which must husband its natural resources.   Eddie's son is now in politics and works for a social welfare organization.

We drive home from Galway, taking the N6 to the M6 and its raining again.   We stopped to take pictures of sheep.   They all ran away, the babies bleating, but then the mothers came forward, almost challenging me - like ancient tribal chieftans of old.   As soon as I left, the lambs and their mother scrambled over to the the fence, where I'd been, curious to get a wiff of me and watch me go.   Classic approach/retreat behavior.

The countryside walls are covered with ivy which brings to mind my mother's little ditty again:

"Mares eat oats and does eat oats and little lambs eat ivy, a kid'll eat ivy too.   Wouldn' you?"

We stopped in at Ballaune to see the Turoe Stone from 2-3BC.   It was located in a petting zoo, but the car park attendant knew exactly why we were there and told us, "It's gone to the laboratory to preserve it from the black fungus," which is covering over the intricate designs of flowers on its sides.  Its another example of a Neolithic fertility pole located near another ring fort.

The Turoe Stone
www.ancientireland.org 

Finally we drove over the River Shannon back into County West Meath.   A production of the Magic Flute is being held in a tent on the grounds of Lismore Castle to the south.  So many things to do and see.   Too bad vacations have to end.   Though the sky is grey again I see some breaks in the clouds to the north.

Friday May 23 - Leaving Ireland

9:00 am sitting in Dublin Airport with a two hour flight delay, I have just had my last Irish breakfast and now have time to catch up on my journal.   Steve and Janet got up early with me to see me off at the bus.  I did not sleep more than 4 hours last night; too busy thinking about all I have done and seen in 7 days and all I have to do in the coming weeks.  Reality encroaches and the illusion of forever exploring and seeing new sights comes to and end.  After Morocco I did not think there could be a more perfect vacation, but this has been it.

Last sunrise in Ireland 

Last night was no exception.  We arrived back in Churchtown about 12:30.

School girls in Churchtown

Magpie

Our host's lovely backyard

Home away from home in Churchtown 

After checking on Oggi - the pet tortoise in the garden has been known to tip over and strand himself on his back - he's 45 years old for goodness sake!

45 year old tortoise in residence 

We ate sandwiches made from leftovers of Helen's hearty breakfast - lovely eggs, salmon and brown bread; a bit of Janet's home made lentil soup; some of Steve's fried rice.  A complete meal.  Oggi, by the way, was out there enjoying himself in the rain - right side up.

Oggi enjoying the rain 

I packed and repacked my bag several times trying to figure out what I should leave since my new sweaters were so bulky.  Janet agreed to go with me back to the National Museum and we left at 3:00
in the rain.

The bus ride from Churchtown to Dublin where you can check your wifi

 We stopped first at St. Stephens green to see the swans; a whole family; mother with 9 fuzzy grey babies and papa in the back.  It felt like the Boston Commons - Make way for Ducklings.

St. Stephen's Green - Joyce's old haunt 

Swan family 

In the National Museum I found the Neolithic axe head from Knowth with the beautiful carvings as well as the phallic fertility pole and many stone beads.   I looked at the bog men again - bodies preserved in peat with skin, fingernails, and hair intact.  Most of them are dismembered or headless attesting to the brutal manner of their death wether by warfare, murder or religious sacrifice.

5000 year old stone jewelry

Neolithic ax head from Knowth

Amber beads

Ceremonial bowl

Axe head 

Bog man - skin preserved for 3000 years 

I looked through the hall of kings, the Viking legacy, where there was an amazing Norse skeleton of great height buried with his sword and dagger.  Then through medieval Ireland with all its saints and reliqueries.   Tucked in there all on its own was a Sheela-na-gig - in a dark corner with no label or light on it.  Just a tiny tag as if they were embarrassed and not wanting to advertise this female fertility figure often above a doorway on churches with the vulva - female parts - of the figure vividly exaggerated.  How threatening is the frank sexuality of the female body?

Swords of the Norse invaders

Jewel encrusted bible

Shoe from Middle Ages 

Scallop shell sign of religious pilgrims 

The Sheela-na-gig hidden in a corner with no label

From the museum we walked in the rain to Hodge & Figgus a big bookstore where I bought a book of Keats poetry and one of Irish wildflowers.  Janet proposed walking over the River Liffey again to Smithfield and Four Corners to the Cobblestone to hear music.

Ha'penny Bridge over the Liffey 

Row houses in Smithtown 

We stopped at M Hughes on the way over and the bartender told us, "We have music every night starting at nine," but it was only 5:30 so we walked over to the Cobblestone by way of the Jameson's brewery.  There we found three fiddlers playing at high speed in unison and practically no one in the place. We sat at the end of the bar, as their only audience and ordered two glasses of Tullamore Dew whiskey and cups of black tea as well.

A smooth Irish whiskey 

 There were two women who were quite good.  One kept a strong beat with her foot as they played, just as I am learning to do playing old timey music in the States.  There was a young man at the end who appeared to be learning the tune and following them.   He had the same sandy hair and round gentle face as Sam Gamgee (as played by Sean Austin) in the LOTR movies.

While we sat and drank and tapped our feet a crowd soon arrived.  By seven there was a small crowd.   Three more fiddlers, two Irish flutes, a bagpipe and a tin whistle joined with the others.  They would play one tune, slow down slightly and just launch into another.  When I asked names of tunes they just shrugged and said, "Maybe a hornpipe?" or something like that, but they sure knew how to play.  I thought I heard several jigs and reels as well.   At a certain point the two women launched into a series of waltzes - slower - which I thought I could learn to play.  I recorded many of the tunes on my i-Phone and they did not seem to mind.  Others were doing this too.

Photos of musicians at The Cobblestone

A young sight impaired woman arrived with her companion and a tin whistle in hand.   She was a friend of one of the fiddlers, and excitedly said hello and pulled out her whistle requesting to play a barn dance.   Occasionally she would get up and dance a jig and also played and sang her own version of Moon River.  I told the musicians that I played Old Timey fiddle and they said, "come back on Saturday - there's a session then."   Too bad - next time!     We were there for 3 hours and the bar was crowded when we left.   The sky was still light when we walked over to Oscars at 9 for dinner.   This is a nice modern place in the neighborhood where we had chowder and curry.  A musician sang American ballads in the back: Paul Simin, Beatles, Van Morrison.   It was still light when we headed for the tram and home at 10.   We stopped in at M. Hughes but there was no one listening to the lone fiddle and squeeze box in the back.  Too tired - we left.

Tram to Connolly Station and a last bus ride home to Churchtown - a little drunk on whiskey and completely exhausted.   Steve was up when we got in, but we all went to bed and agreed to meet at 6:30 to say good-bye at the bus.

A parting gift at the airport for my husband

Now sitting in the airport; the Irish news on in the distance; wondering whose going to win the elections to EU parliament - Independents, Labour, Sinn Fein, Fine Gael or Fine Faille or one of the many others.  I look back on my stay and realize how important it has been to my sense of identity.   In our family it was all the Irish weakness that came out - the moodiness, alcoholism, an often mean spirited toughness.  The Belgians had all the good qualities we inherited we're told - the good genes, the intelligence, the nurturance, the history and moral code of our ancestors; something to be proud of and identified with.  The family tree traced back to the 7th century for goodness sake.   All that was Irish seemed lost in the bitter musings of our mother about her own Irish mother with whom she did not get along.  There are know addresses or gravestones to look up in Limerick the city of her ancestors birth.
 It is only now in her extreme dotage that she speaks about Aggie Carmody - her grandmother, straight off the boat from County Kerry - who actually raised her on Classon Point in the Bronx.   There is much to admire: a tough sensible nature and sense of fun, the beautiful red hair of my uncle Jim, my sister Liz and now my grand-niece Evie.  But there is also the artistic legacy of Grandma Carmody Maurer's brothers who were sign painters and early ad-men in NYC.  As for me I am grateful for the gift of words - the bards legacy. For that I credit the Belgians and the Irish.  But I felt a deep, deep connection to the "old sod" as they say; feeling right at home on the now barren hill of Tara.   The humor and resilience of the people are something I recognize as mine and I will hold that forever.

Wednesday, May 21 - The Aran Isle of Inesmore

Up early to be served breakfast by Helen, Eddie's wife, at the Four Season B&B:  Fruit, the creamiest scones ever, breads, clotted cream, smoked salmon, scrambled eggs, and a whole pot of tea.  I have never eaten so well.   Helen is a saint and does all the cooking while Eddie does the entertaining in the breakfast room.

We walked to the bus for the ferry in the sun, but with clouds threatening.  At 9:30 the bus took us North west out through Claddagh

Fire station in Claddagh

The Burren to the south

toward Connamara through the rockiest countryside I have ever seen and stone walls everywhere just because there is nothing else to do with all of the rocks!  Cows, sheep, some thatch roofed cottages.

The Burren in distance with stone walls of Connamara 

 It started to rain and we arrived in Rosevalley, for the boat, under a sky so grey and overcast and a land so strewn with stones that you begin to understand my Irish great grandmother's temperment, tough and bittersweet.   We boarded the boat in rain and took our Dramamine for the 45 minute crossing.

I went and stood on the outer deck where the wind and the waves were very strong.    I watched the seabirds gathering, fishing, then the sun began to poke out as we approached Kilronan or Cill Roan.

Kilronan

Janet proposed a horse and buggy ride, but none were left by the time we got on shore.  We considered bikes, but then decide to go with a mini-van tour.   Even with these we got the last one with a guy named Bertie who was desperately flagging us down - his only passengers.   He tells us 10 Euro each for a three hour tour and it seems a steal so we sign on.

In the front window of Bertie's van we get a sense of a young Irishman and his mother:
 
                         Jesus must have been Irish.
                         He had twelve friends he drank with.
                         He was a carpenter.
                         He lived with his mother until he was 33.
                         He thought his mother was a virgin
                         And she thought he was God!

A more profane and hyperactive tour guide you will never meet!  But we soon learned what this man was made of when he was willing to sacrifice his tour fees for the day if he had to rescue a fallen school girl from a bike accident and taxi her to the clinic.   Fortunately the need did not really arise and the girl was all right.

He drove right up to the snack shop hoping to catch more riders and then we set off.  Bertie pointed out the elementary school and the high school and where Robert Flaherty shot "Man of Aran" one of the first cinema verite documentaries.

The site for Robert Flaherty's "Man of Aran"

Potato fields

Traditional thatch roof cottage

He showed us the requisite thatched roof huts which he laughingly said about, "we save a few for the tourists," and the neat rows of potato plants.  A few billy goats on the stone wall with their mother.    He described the stone walls as, "Something to do with all the rocks," and sped around the tiny stone walled roads narrowly missing bikers and other tour bus drivers. He waved and said hello to all the walking tourists hoping for another fare and opened his window and nodded, speaking in Gaelic to all the locals.   He is a happy, funny carefree man of about fifty with very clear blue eyes.

He dropped us off at Dun Aengus at 12:30.  This is the ancient Celtic fort in the center of the island.  We had two hours to explore.  Right at the foot was a cafe and a craft village.  I looked at the sweaters and right away they are much more expensive than the shop in Galway - 190 euro for a hand knit.  

We walk toward the fort - a 20 minute climb.   The pony carts are all lined up and way ahead of us.  Then there is the visitor center and another few shops, including An Pucan which was recommended to me by one of my students.  I went into the smaller shop next to it, Dun Aengus Sweaters on the end and met Sarah Flaherty who has lovely hand knit sweaters in emerald, purple and teal tweed colors for E125 and hats for E15.    She charges me a very reasonable rate for a gorgeous purple blue tweed sweater and two hats.  Mission accomplished.

She herself wears a ratty sweater made of acrylic which she says her daughter calls, "her rag."
"But it suits me, " she tells me.  Sarah promises to keep my sweater while I climb to the fort, but I pop one of the hats on my head to keep me warm - it is cool with overcast skies.  

We climb the trail filled with rocky walls and cows.  Jagged blocks of limestone jut out of the earth like needles and then the clouds start to part.   You can see the village of Kilronan in the distance and the cliffs of the headlands against the waves and sea which is a deep, deep turquoise blue.

Limestone rocks

Kilronan is the distance

Example of a ring fort from
the Dun Aengus Visitor  Center

The fort itself, built in 1100 BC, is a ring fort made of the limestone blocks.  And it looks so modern in design and the dry wall stacking that you would never think that the walls are 3000 years old.   One end of the fort is the cliff which drops 280 feet to the crashing waves below.


 I crept to the edge, but had to turn back as it was too scary for me.   The PWO attendant (look up) there said they have never had an accident or a suicide, unlike the Cliffs of Mohr just across the water and a bit to the south.  There are many there and an quite steeper drop of 700 feet.   He described one incident only of arriving early one morning to find a sole drunken individual sitting on the ledge above the cliff with his bottle of Jamison's and how he needed to be gently coaxed down the hill.

Dun Aengus ring fort

280 foot drop to the sea

3000 year old stone walls

Both the Cliffs of Mohr and the Burren in County Clare west of Limerick can be seen from Inesmore.  The guide says there is evidence of ancient funerals with young children's baby teeth on the site.  One wonders how these children survived.  He described and inner wall toward the middle of the fort (no longer existing) that was probably used to define a domestic more protected area by the wall.

Wearing Sarah's hat!

Baskets for

Jack-in-the-Pulpit

Walking down from the fort brought out the sun and the cows came close enough to almost pet them.  They seemed to almost frolic down the hill.   Sarah had my sweater as promised and agreed to a photo as long as I did not show her.  She said, "It will break your camera."   I loved her. What a sweet lady and a talented knitter.   She's sold sweaters to Steven Spielberg and Amy Adams to name a few celebrities.   I shopped the others stores and picked up a sweater for Dean and a few Celtic crosses to give as presents.

Sarah puts her hat on Steve

Lunch at the cafe with a yellow door.  Marvelous vegetable soup, brown bread and chicken sandwiches.  I was starving.    Bertie waited for us and had picked up another "fare" - Shirley from Virginia.   She had bought several leprechauns in the sweater shop to put on her refrigerator.

We went to see the seven churches next.  The remains of old Romanesque churches and an ancient graveyard which is still quite actively used, with numerous relatives of Bertie.  The oldest graves dated back to the 9th century of 5 roman scholars who had come to study with Irish monks attesting to the interest in Celtic learning in the Medieval world.  Bertie had shown us the house where he was born.   Bertie was non-stop commentary and sound effects with his dare devil driving and wise cracks.

Seven churches graveyard

Remains of seven churches and graveyard

Graves of Roman Scholars

The ancient alongside the new

Next we went to see the seals.   Big fat seals sunning on the rocks among the kelp.  The sun has finally come out and I am surprised to see that the water is aquamarine like the Caribbean.   I asked if he called them selkies.    He said that was a movie term for seals and that he was still waiting to see "The Secret of Roan Inish," in which a woman turns into seal and steals a baby boy who she raises in the wild among the other seals.  Roan is the Gaelic world for seal and inish is the word for island.

Seals sunning on the rocks

Our colorful tour guide

All of the touring school kids on their bikes crowded our van and I thought Bertie was going to kill someone but he was very deft.   By four pm he drove us back to the harbor where the sky was clear and deep blue and my camera is about the die!   The Burren and the Cliffs of Mohr are clear in the distance.

The Burren and the Cliff's of Mohr to the east in the distance

We spent the last half hour sitting under a Celtic cross listening to a local musician practicing on his banjo for an evening gig.  I picked up a few seashells from the harbor - cockle shells.  

Then we boarded the ferry for home.   Unfortunately my camera was dead, but the light of the sky and the water on the white houses and green fields with Burren in the distance, was astoundingly beautiful as the sun was lowering in the sky.   I will always remember it and want to return.

We had dinner at Maxwells and walked around town to Tig Coili.   But then we discovered Naughton's the other classic old pub, but neither has music till later and we are tired after our day on the island.   Instead we walked along the canal and watched the river rushing dark and dangerous.   Such a dynamic city all shadows and light; dark grey and white clouds with patches of blue.   We walked over to Claddagh and watched about twelve swans congregate in the harbor in the waning sunlight.

We ended up Garvey's a more local pub on our way back to the Four Seasons.  A rock-a-billy band playing songs from the 50's and several couples swing dance amazingly well as if they do this on a weekly basis.  Then the bar fills up with American college kids when their Viking tour bus drops them off at the bar wearing viking hats and wigs and drinking shots.  Tomorrow we drive back to Dublin and hope to see the Torei Rock on the way home.