Giants and whiskey

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Geo: 55.1991, -6.65407

If it's not one thing, it's another. Lovely quiet hotel, comfy bed ... and a light on the ceiling right inside the door that stayed on all night long. I asked Katherine this morning if there's one in their room. She said there is, and that she figured out there's a dimmer switch by the door. I found the dimmer switch too, but even at the lowest position, the light is bright enough to read by. Am once again missing the eyeshades British Airways used to give out.

Today was a lot less mentally taxing than yesterday, but far more physically demanding. We climbed a lot of stairs and quite a few hills, but at least we got free whiskey out of it!

Declan started out telling us the story of the Giant's Causeway, our first stop. Back a long, long, long time ago, there was a giant living in the area named Finn MacCool. Someone told him that over in Scotland there was an even bigger giant, and that Finn was nothing compared to the Scot. Finn decided he had better see about this, so he threw rocks down in to the sea until they piled up and he had a bridge to Scotland, which is only 30 miles away. So Finn walked across the bridge and went to see Benandonnar, the Scottish giant. Finn peeked in Benandonnar's window and could see that he was, indeed, a great deal bigger than himself. Finn tried to tiptoe away, but since a giant tiptoeing is still about 7.0 on the Richter scale, Benandonnar was wakened and gave chase after Finn.

Finn ran back across the causeway with Benandonnar not too far behind. When Finn got to his house, he said to his wife Mary, “What will I do? The Scottish giant is huge!” Mary told him to build a cot and put it in the corner, which he did. Meanwhile, Mary knitted a smock, a bonnet, and some booties. She made Finn put these things on and get into the cot and pretend to be asleep.

Soon there came a knock at the front door. It was Benandonnar demanding to see the giant Finn MacCool. Mary said, “I don't know where Finn is. But would you please keep it down? I've just gotten the baby to sleep.” (Declan did this in a hilarious Monty Pythonesque voice.)

“Baby?” asked Benandonnar. “I didn't know Finn had a baby. Show him to me.” Benandonnar was led to the cot, where he put out his finger and tickled Finn's chin. Finn opened his mouth and bit Benandonnar's finger. “He bit me!” cried Benandonnar. “If that's the baby, I dinnae want to see the daddy!” And Benandonnar ran back across the causeway, ripping it up as he went. Finn MacCool ran down to the water's edge, picked up a great clot of dirt and hurled it at the retreating Benandonnar. That great clot of dirt landed in the Irish Sea and became the Isle of Man. And the hole where the clot of dirt used to be became Lough Neagh, Northern Ireland's biggest lake.

Modern-day geologists have a theory that the Giant's Causeway was a result of volcanic activity more than 60 million years ago. Something about the lava cooling and contracting and crystallizing into polygonal columns. The rock settled and eroded, blah blah blah, and the columns broke off into stair-like steps. Scientists take all the fun out of everything.

Anyway, the Giant's Causeway is pretty nifty, with all these columnar stones at different levels. We had fun climbing up and down and looking at the tide pools left by the ocean. The only drawback was that it was a long way down from the bus to the stones, which meant it was a very long way back up. Still, I think this was my favorite part of the trip so far.

Our next stop was at the Old Bushmills Distillery (Hi, Dutch!) in the town of Bushmills. Bushmills was granted a license to distill whiskey in 1608, but whiskey had been made there since the 13th century. We were taken on a tour through the mash pit (which smelled like cowpats), the vat room (which was very, very hot), a huge warehouse holding row upon row and stack upon stack of empty barrels, and the bottling plant, which was absolutely fascinating. I was playing the factory music from old Warner Bros. cartoons in my head. Bushmills triple distills its whiskies; Scotch whiskies are only distilled twice. Additionally, after the whiskey is aged in a white oak barrel, that barrel is sent off to other alcohol producing plants around the world (e.g., Kentucky for bourbon, the Madeira Islands for madeira wine). This produces more flavor in the barrel, which produces different flavors in the whiskey. When the other place is finished using the barrel, it is sent back to Bushmills. A barrel is used by Bushmills three times before it is sold, probably to be someone's garden planter.

The tour concluded with a tasting in the former malt barn. I had a glass of 12-year-old, with just a drop or two of water. I'm certainly no whiskey connoisseur, but it went down pretty well!

After lunch we moved on to Carrick-a-Rede to cross the rope bridge. It's a mile walk from the parking lot to the bridge ... all downhill and with two long flights of old stone steps. Then when you get to the bridge, there's another very steep set of steel stairs leading down to the small cliff. The bridge is strung 100 feet above a 65-foot-wide chasm between the mainland and a tiny island. There are two planks to walk on, there are rope handrails, and the whole thing moves when there are other people walking on it. The rangers only let eight people on the bridge at a time because otherwise the bridge would be bouncing all over the place. Going over it was a little scary, but really only because of the movement, which actually wasn't that bad. From the little island, you can see Rathlin Island – where Robert the Bruce watched a spider building its web and then was inspired to go defeat English invaders – as well as the Mull of Kintyre and Islay in Scotland.

Returning over the bridge was much easier, and I even let go of my death grip on the rope handrail! A bridge has been there for 200 years because it gives access to salmon nets set during the summer months. When we got back up to the top of the cliff (quite a slog, let me tell ya), Katherine and I each paid a pound to get a little “certificate of completion” with our name on it. Kind of silly, but the money goes to the National Trust to maintain sites like the rope bridge.

We were all very quiet on the bus on the way to our next stop. I think a few people even fell asleep, even though we pulled up to Dunluce Castle only 15 minutes later. The castle was originally built by the McQuillans in the 14th century on a small island right off the mainland; it was captured by the MacDonalds in the 16th century. So for our little tour, the castle became mine. The guide kept trying to get me to contribute to the castle's upkeep. In 1639, during a banquet on a stormy night, half of the kitchen and most of the kitchen staff – as well as all the food – fell into the sea when the cliff face collapsed. The castle was then abandoned and slowly went to ruin. There are fantastic views from the round tower, which is still pretty well intact. It's also haunted by the ghost of Maeve, the daughter of one of the McQuillans. She threw herself from the top of the tower when her father had her lover killed. There is also a natural tunnel that runs from the sea on one side right through the length of the island to what is now a dry moat. There is supposedly a mermaid that lives in the tunnel; ergo, the tunnel is called the Mermaid's Tunnel (imagine that!).

When we were done with the tour, John the driver collected everyone's cameras and took a group photo with the castle as a backdrop. I haven't even checked mine; I hope it turned out okay.

Back to the hotel, where I picked up my clean laundry (had sent it out this morning). I have a nice clean nightgown this time, so I'm rather happy.

Katherine, Michelle and I walked down to the harbor for dinner at the Ramore Wine Bar. Interesting set-up: someone seats you and gives you a menu, but then you go up to the bar to order your food and drink and to pay, then someone brings your food out to you. And then if you want dessert, you have to go back again. It was a very busy place with a whole range of ages and types. I had chicken goujons (tenders) and parmesan fries (yum!), and chocolate raspberry cake for dessert.

After dinner we walked back up to the little park between the hotel and the beach, intending to have a good look at the monument in the middle (which turns out to be a piece of modern art, not a monument). Instead, we sat for a while and watched a man training his “wee springer spaniel.” He had a Chuck-It, and the dog was just crazy for running after the ball. The guy had her jumping all over the place, hitting various marks, and just generally being obedient, and then her treat was that he would chuck the ball. Her tail was wagging so hard she could barely stay upright. My favorite thing was: “Drop it!” She'd just look at him. “Drop it!” She'd pretend to drop the ball. “I mean it!” And she'd finally drop it. It was highly entertaining and had us laughing happily.

Tomorrow is our last day of the tour. Sadness reigns.

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Comments

[Dutch]

I was drooling when you described the Bushmills tour. To me, that is the best whiskey that I have ever drank, and I have tried many. Some scotch whiskeys are close, but Bushmills is the best. All of your posts are great and I have learne
d a lot.