Getting Stewed in Dublin

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Today we have a long day. To start, we have an early “All-Day” private tour and when we get back, it’s off to an evening of Irish food and entertainment that is sure to keep us in high spirits… in more way than one!

I grabbed my deli-sandwich (which I put together myself) and Sharon had one simple request… a waffle with chocolate chips. The steward apologized, saying, “Sorry, no chocolate chips today! But I have these… even better! He then proceeded to pour what Sharon’s mom would call “Chocolate Jimmies” in a heaping mound atop her waffle. You and I might call them chocolate sprinkles. Either way, they looked like a million tiny ants. As I reached the table where Sharon had set down her plate, she was just staring at her waffle, “What am I going to do with these?”

We’d booked the “Wild Wicklow Tour” from Sharon’s contacts with Cruise Critic. She’d been one of the first to sign up; and, because over forty people eventually signed up for the tour, the bus declared it a “private tour” and was willing to pick us up on the pier. Otherwise we’d have had to take a taxi to a hotel for pickup which would have been ok but it was much nicer to be picked up right at the pier. Boarding the bus, you can’t help but notice that you board from the opposite side than normal. I remembered, “Oh yes, I suppose they do drive on the left side of the road.” We’re settling into our seats, again near the rear, and Sharon wants to take a picture. She notices, there’s no memory card in the camera. Of course not, it’s in the laptop when I transferred pictures from our Rotterdam walkabout. We have a spare memory card in the bag; but, after she pops that into the camera she gets a warning message: “Memory Not Accessible”. Okay, we have ten minutes to fix this. How did I know that it would involve Sharon’s pack mule to high tail it back to the cabin to retrieve the memory card? Fortunately, the gangplank was set on Deck One Midship. I just had to go up one deck and then around the corner. I was back in a flash; but, not before our driver Dennis believing everyone had been accounted for, announced that he was ready to go. Sharon asks him to wait, “My husband has gone to get his memory card.” Dennis greets me when I show up, just under the scheduled departure time, “Did you find your memory… your wife says that you forgot it.” He raps his knuckles on my head as I pass through the door. Jim asks, “Did you find your memory?” as I passed by. All of our Trivia Teammates were also taking this tour. I sit down and hand Sharon the memory card. “Umm. I sort of got it to work,” she admits. “But…” she notes cheerily, “We can use the card that you have.” Click, click and the two memory cards are swapped.

We start off, “Hi, I’m Dennis… Dennis the Menace!” Dennis had a very engaging and understandable Irish accent. There was a lady near the front who exclaimed to her husband, “Henry, he’s driving on the WRONG side of the road.” Dennis chimes in, “There’s just one thing that I have to say about that. You Yanks may drive on the ‘Right’ side of the road; but, here in Ireland, we drive on the ‘Correct’ side of the road.” There was one other thing that he wanted to clarify, “Please don’t burst my bubble when I talk about the mountains about Dublin by calling them ‘hills’?” And then he continued with his narration. Dennis is both our driver, and our tour guide, and he provided near non-stop lucid commentary full of interesting historical reference. He talked about the various Irish dialects or speech nuances, how those north of the river talk quite a bit different from those south of the river. The river in this case is the Liffey River. Dennis noted that frequently students from other countries will often come to live with a family here in Ireland for an “English Immersion Experience”. Dennis likes to engage these students in conversation, and then surprise them by telling them where they are staying. He says that he can do this, because of the unique speaking dialects and language structure throughout Ireland. Further, he claims that these students will “be stuck” with this accent for the rest of their lives. We passed the building in which Oscar Wilde had once lived. On towards the coast James Joyce had once stayed in the castle tower on a point, just prior to writing Ulysses. James Joyce had swum, according to Dennis in the altogether, in a popular swimming cove on Sandymount Strand. We stopped for thirty minutes to take some pictures of the picturesque and peaceful seaside retreat. We spotted a cruise ship coming into the mouth of the Liffey. Sharon and I were marveling at the palm tries in the tiny park overlooking the water. Dennis later clarified that Ireland has a temperate climate thanks to the Gulf Stream coming up from Mexico so they have quite a few palm trees.

Dennis was obviously a devout proponent of the European Union (EU). Ireland has adopted the Euro, and Dennis can’t understand the UK’s populous movement towards BREXIT. He frankly thinks that they’re crazy, and that leaving the union will have detrimental affects on the many British expats living elsewhere in the EU, because BREXIT would terminate the reciprocity agreements for things like health care and passports. As for Ireland, they benefitted greatly since joining the EU by substantial improvements in infrastructure through the massive highway system that now connects the many parts of Ireland. The EU picked up 85% of that cost and Ireland only needed to come up with 15%.

We climbed out of wooded areas to reach the bog or turf of the highlands, which are still used to heat some homes. Ireland offers sweeping valleys of green even in a drought. Streams are running low or not at all. We drove past sights of many movie productions from Braveheart to Vikings (still in production). One promontory site overlooking vast green and partly wooded valley and lake is currently in use by the producers of “Viking” and we saw an impressive stone hut made of stones; but, really the stones were made of Paper Mache. Dennis surprised us all with a bottle of Jameson on this windy chilly summit where the clouds were moving in. He had plastic shot glasses for everyone and poured everybody that wanted it a generous shot. I was surprised at how smooth it was.

We had lunch in a nearby town. I opted for the popular Beef Stew made with Guinness and a dollop of mashed potatoes in the center. Sharon wasn’t so keen on having mashed potatoes with her beef stew; so, she chose roast turkey. Evidently in Ireland ham is served with turkey. I got a Guinness to wash it all down with and Sharon was happy to get 7-up.

I was feeling pretty good after lunch. Our final stop was to visit where Kevin the Hermit had exiled himself to live in a 6-by-6-by12-foot cave for the final dozen years of his life. He came to live by himself by the upper lake in this remote valley. Word of this “holy man” caused others to flock to the area and be near the old recluse. Buildings sprang up resulting in a monastery to follow this hermit. How ironic that a man who wants to be alone in order to pray quietly by himself for all of humanity soon finds himself amidst 10,000 pilgrims who all came to see and be with him. And this hermit, he was to become Saint Kevin of Glendalough. And with this many people, a monastery established, a church, a tower, it becomes a place of interest when others come to Ireland or wish to control Ireland. There were Vikings that came here to conquer; as did wannabe Irish monarchs. Lookouts in the tower would warn the community to run for the hills. A large part of the grounds is the graveyard that goes back over 1,500 years. A large cross in the center of the grounds was the final monument to Saint Kevin.

Dennis offered people the opportunity to go with him and drive to the upper lake. He said that it would be a leisurely 20-minute walk. I believe his exact words were, “Just follow the signs.” And “Don’t take the path to the parking lot.” It took Sharon and I 40 minutes to make the approximately 1-mile walk, snapping pictures along the way, which after all, was the point of the walk in the first place. The trail was either a wide asphalt/cement walkway; or, a wide wooden walkway over marshy ground. There were people propelling themselves along in wheel chairs and scooters. We eventually found our bus and all either of us wanted to do was sit down.

On the way back, Dennis dropped Duncan and Pam off in town, and two other couples near another hotel. We didn’t get back to the ship until 6PM, one-half hour later than scheduled, so we only had 20 minutes to get ready to go out again. I managed a shower and changed clothes, only because one of our two loads of laundry had been completed.

It was a one-hour drive through evening traffic to get to Taylor’s Three Rock that offers Irish food and entertainment under the largest thatched roof in Ireland. Our bus driver said, “Do you see the owner there, Slim Jim we call him, standing there waiting to greet you…” Our driver did caution, “But don’t you call him ‘Slim Jim’. He’s Big Jim.” And he was a big man, even bigger than me in ways that I shouldn’t be. The room easily held 200 people in rows directed towards the center stage. Menus were propped up by each place setting. There were two stemmed wine glasses with each setting, one for white and one for red wine. Most people just started pouring ice water from the pitchers into the smaller wine glass (the one set face up). There was about one pitcher of water for every six people. Every place had a slice of briwb bread in a factory sealed wrapper, and a single individual wrapped butter. And then I and the fellow seated opposite me spotted the same thing at the same time. He wonders, “Is that…?” Yup. It sure looks like a shot glass, and some Jameson whiskey has already been poured into it. The shot glass was more a tumbler than anything else and could probably hold about three shots. The mouth was about three inches across. Only a small portion of whiskey had been poured in each glass, perhaps half of one shot; but, this evening was getting better already. We needed to select an appetizer. Our choices were root vegetable soup, seafood salad, or pate with salad. Entrée choices were lamb stew, turkey/ham with stuffing or herbed salmon. As I recollect, they also had provision for a vegetarian and gluten-free diner. The soup was tasty and unique, perhaps a bit bland so it meant that Sharon didn’t spit it out with a “Pfui!” She did try a second spoonful; but, didn’t finish the rather large bowl. To do again, I would probably choose the seafood salad which looked excellent and a meal onto itself. Those around us who made that choice seemed quite happy. People who tried the pate seemed to like that as well; but, you should be certain that you do indeed like pate; or, you really might experience a “Phui-moment” as I did when travelling with friends in Paris over thirty years ago. My friend’s sister made the mistake of thinking that the pate was chocolate mousse. The meal was also served with your choice of red or white wine, beer or soda. I chose Guinness (as most did) and Sharon had 7-up. Sharon was concerned that the lamb stew would be tough. It was not; the stew was easily the best choice. She is still getting used to the Irish pairing ham with turkey.

The servers did an outstanding job of getting food to every person. The even handled Sharon’s request for “No Gravy” without needing to be reminded again. There was waiting going on, but drinks and courses were arriving at a steady pace. And Big Jim was going around to each table to completely fill the tumblers with Jameson whiskey, and he went through more than the two bottles he was dispensing from (one held in each hand). I had already poured Sharon’s whiskey into my tumbler (and the fellow opposite me did the same from his wife’s tumbler). When Big Jim came by I pointed at Sharon’s empty tumbler and he poured the glass nearly to the rim. And the fellow across from me, he’d already finished his whiskey and Big Jim filled his tumbler to the rim.

The entertainment started about the time that we’d finished our appetizers. Others closer to the stage were already eating their entrées. The show started with six Irish dancers, three men and three women, jigging their way into our hearts. The did folk dances as a group and also individual dances where their toe-tapping prowess left us all in awe. After several dance numbers, four musicians played and sang various popular Irish tunes using traditional instruments including the guitar, recorder, violin (fiddle) and keyboard. During a brief break they encouraged Big Jim to come up and say a few words. His entrance was more of a stumble onto the stage up the steep steps leading to the microphone. He mumbled something about, “Sampling too much of the Jameson.” He encouraged us to have fun, and that some of us would come up on the stage and perform. And one person would have the opportunity to demonstrate the ability to say a tongue twister: “I am not a pheasant plucker, I’m the pheasant plucker’s son. I am only plucking pheasants, ‘til the pheasant plucker comes!” It’s not exactly the easiest thing to say when you’ve downed a pint and some Jameson chasers. There was volunteer that later came up and it was quite hilarious hearing him stumble through the verse. On the fourth or fifth attempt, Big John had heard enough and awarded him the prize a “Three Rock” T-shirt. Others were encouraged to get on stage and play goat skin drums with the band; or, to dance with the dancers. It all made for an enjoyable evening.

Dessert was an Irish White Cake with a thin layer of apple filling. And we were also given an Irish Coffee to wash it down. When I tasted the Irish Coffee, I didn’t detect any whiskey in it at all, so I simply dumped the remainder of my tumbler into my coffee. And then it was quite good. The fellow across from me had already emptied his tumbler (and he REALLY couldn’t taste any whiskey in his coffee).

It was another hour back to the ship and we both basically dove into bed.

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