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Published: September 8th 2008
At long last! Writings from my week in Ireland.
MAY 4 - MAY 11
We arrived in Dublin on May 4, and took a bus to Stillorgan Village, the suburb where we were staying for a couple days. My friend Elizabeth's mother is a nurse in Infectious Disease in St. Louis, and had worked with two Irish doctors over the years; Bill who now lives in Dublin, and Mary who now lives in Cork. We were able to stay with both of them.
We knew the basic parts of Ireland we wanted to see, but did not have a plan formulated when we arrived, since we had just finished a busy semester and week of travel. We had expected to continue at the pace we had been keeping up as we breezed through Germany, Austria, and the Czech Republic in one week. Bill quickly informed us we would have to choose wisely, because the transportation around Ireland is a lot different than the rest of Europe. We had been connected dots on a map where no connections were- Trains were fewer, more expensive, and most went in and out of the Dublin hub, so instead of making a loop between the different parts of Ireland we would have to go to Dublin in between each one. The bus schedule was very limited as well (but definitely more economical). There would have to be a lot more “travel time” than we were expecting for this small country!
My body had unknowingly become conditioned over the last semester and especially the previous week of constant travel. Since we had done a lot of travel at inconsistent and inconvenient times, I tried to catch sleep whenever we were on the go, whether bus or train. Unfortunately, I brought this tendency and a big sleep debt to Ireland. Each time I felt the whir of a motor under my seat, my eyelids would start to become heavy, and I would be overcome with the urgent need to doze. I tried to fight it! It was a continuous mental battle! I struggled to look out the window at the countryside, but the motor’s whir lulled me into sleep surrender several times during the week.
Bill’s wife Betsy fed us and drove us out to Gleann Dá Loch, or Glendalough., the valley of the two lakes south of Dublin, in the Wicklow mountains. In the 6th Century, St. Kevin, looking for a peaceful environment for ascetic monastic life, founded a community here. The English destroyed the settlement in in the late 1300’s, and the surviving ruins are likely from the 10th to 12th centuries. There are ruins near the upper and lower lake. The first thing I noticed was the tall round tower that could be seen from very far away. There are a couple theories to the purpose of its construction, especially with the entrance about 4 meters higher than the base. It could have been used as a bell tower, but is also thought to have been a place of refuge during Vikings invasions. Let us not forget the Celtic monk’s role in saving civilization’s literature! The second thing I noticed were all the surrounding tombstones, many with the the celtic cross carved out at the top. There were also remains of the Cathedral. Inside, against one of the walls is a shallow dip in the stone, and is the basin where the sacred vessels were washed. Standing in front of it I tried to picture the Celtic monks busy at work. An ancient, granite, celtic cross with an unpierced ring stands outside the Cathedral as St. Kevin’s cross. There is also a cross engraved into a stone inside the granite arched Gateway that signaled one had entered sanctuary.
Betsy bought us an ice cream cone with a cinnamon stick nestled in the creamy vanilla. It was good leisure exploration food. Here and in the countryside throughout much of the country, we saw Ireland’s prominent weed- Gorse-dry loooking bushes of yellow flowers. The area is very beautiful, especially the lower lake, and little creeks running through. There are walking trails scattered all around Wicklow county. We walked up a short trail near the lower lake to the tiny Poulanass waterfall. Chelsea and I laid down on the inviting grass, and it was just as pleasantly carpeted as we were hoping! Betsy fed us Irish stew later that night.
On Monday we explored downtown Dublin. I sat in the front left passenger seat as Betsy drove.. (on the wrong side of the road) before dropping us off at Trinity College. We walked through the exhibition “Turning Darkness into Light” in the Old Library. At the end of the exhibit four manuscripts are displayed: The Book of Armagh, the Book of Dimma, and two manuscripts from the book of Kells. Leading up to this are the multimedia rooms introducing the history of the book as well as other ancient manuscripts. I stood somewhat hypnotised in front of a video on book binding. The Book of Kells, the illuminated manuscript of the four gospels written over 1000 years ago, were fascinating. The swirling patterns of golden ink, rich caligraphy and artwork really can’t be described.
The long room has over 200,000 of the Library oldest books on two sides, complete with tall, packed shelves and ladders. The oldest harp in Ireland, from the fifteenth century-known as Brian Boru’s harp, is on display here. This is the harp used in the logo for Guinness.
We walked down to St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin’s park and I ate brought a salt beef melt for a picnic. My memories here include a lot of strollers, flowers, and geese.
I was extremely surprised to find out that Dublin has no Catholic Cathedral. The St. Patrick’s Cathedral here is Episcopalian.
We visited the Guinness Storehouse, which is set off from the brewery itself, and walked through a multimedia display of how Ireland’s most famous beer is made. On display in the first room is the 9,000 year lease Arthur Guinness signed for the brewery. The multi-level museum was extremely modern and interactive. A little bit of the original yeast is kept in the director’s safe and used every year. Hops, barley, wheat, and water are all used in the recipe, and the water comes from the Wicklow Mountains(Near Glendalough!) On the top floor, everyone gets a Guinness with their admission ticket, and there is a 360 degree, very industrial-looking view of Dublin through the glass windows.
We trekked off to look for the Registry of Deeds at King’s Inn, where I was sent on a mission from my mother to do some genealogy investigation, but alas that Monday was a bank holiday and it was closed!
We were able to see the signature of the 1916 Easter Rising- Bullet holes on the pillars and building of the post office.
As most of you probably know, our family had hosted three Northern Irish teens during three different summers as part of the Ulster Project. Because of the troubles in Northern Ireland between Protestants and Catholics, this project was designed as a peace and tolerance building project in which twelve teens, half female, half male, half Protestant, half Catholic, stay in the host families of a matching group of American teens for a packed month of activities. Ben, Christina, and I all participated in different summers. During “my” summer, Maeve Judge lived with us and I was able to meet up with her in Dublin where she is now going to school. We met at the Molly Malone statue near Trinity College and talked for a couple hours but she did not have much time, being in the middle of exams.
BEAUTIFUL WESTERN IRELAND
We decided to bike the Dingle Peninsula, on the rocky west coast in County Kerry. We took a train from Dublin to Killarney, and an afternoon bus from Killarney, through Tralee, to Dingle. I became more and more excited looking out the window as we began to see Irish landscapes that I had been hoping for. Dingle is a Gaeltacht, or area where Gaelic is still commonly spoken (and the signs are all in Gaelic), but in my short time there I didn't get the chance to hear it! It used to be a major port town and still has a large fishing community with quaint boats filling the harbor. We walked up through the small town to drop off our bags at our bed and breakfast. I was pleased to see we had cows in our backyard! We were pleasantly greeted and shown to a nice room. Then we took a walk around Dingle. We passed a multitude of brightly painted pubs with signs in the windows advertising TRADITIONAL MUSIC TONIGHT. As we neared the harbor again we heard a megaphone in the distance, so decided to investigate! We came upon an open field with children racing. The boys and girls ran separately, all wearing lots of different colored jerseys. I tried not to look creepy as I gleefully took a picture of a red haired, pale little boy in his green Kerry county jersey. What greatly impressed me about the whole thing was the majority were running in...BARE FEET! I asked one of the girls what is was for, and she informed me they were running County qualifying races. I imagined doing a qualifying race in bare feet on a soft, grassy knoll, with the mist from the Atlantic urging me on...and cringed at the injustice of my cross-country/track days of asphalt, spikes, and coaches trying to wean me from water in the crippling Kansas sun. Too bad my ancestors didn't stay put... I suppose races in Ireland take a more serious approach for the older youth though, as the oldest group running that day was probably 13.
The view of the foggy harbor was a satisfying mysterious sight for my eyeballs. We passed by a statue of a dolphin and read about Dingle's pride and joy, "Fungi". Fungi is a dolphin that has lived in the Dingle harbor for over 25 years and is exceptionally friendly- He never fails to make an appearance and play with the many kids and tours taken out to see him. At the end of the movie "Far and Away" (about Irish immigrants with Nicole Kidman and Tom Cruise), special thanks is given to Fungi the Dingle dolphin. The movie's coastal scenes were filmed here. (I tend to put in some movie trivia with all of my tales) I was so sad not to be able to stay longer to see “Fungi”, but our time in Dingle was limited.
We slipped into a little restaurant and ordered some excellent clam chowder, and then I grabbed my guitar to see if I could join in any traditional music. I had played Irish music in a pub in Weston, MO several times so was hoping to join and jam in some authentic sessions. I was disappointed to find that all the places we went had prearranged the microphones and plugged in instruments, making the prospect of joining them seem awkward and too much of a hassle. I was still very content to lean back and listen. There was a mixture of old and modern pubs. We took note to visit Foxy John's Bar in the morning to get our bikes- it was a traditional bar/hardware store/rent-a-bike all in one.
In the morning, after an Irish breakfast of sausage, bacon, a fried egg, pudding and toast served to us by the owner's son, we headed to the multipurpose bar for the bikes. We passed though the dark smoky area to the back garage storing the bikes. I think I paid about 5 euro for the day rental of a bike and helmet. We planned out a 15 km. bike ride along the peninsula.
I think I can definitely say that this bike ride was one of my absolute favorite days of the entire semester. It was sunny, but we breathed in cool refreshing air. We crossed a stony bridge out of Dingle onto the circular Slea Head Drive and breezed past woodlands, sheep fields, green country, and breathtaking views from the rocky cliffs of the seaside. I couldn't help myself, I broke into song. I belted out all the traditional Irish songs I knew to provide my own soundtrack to the ride. I saw a gorgeous pony behind a fence near the road and stopped my bike to look at it. It pranced up to the fence to let me pet it. As I smoothed his forehead and looked at the bright sea behind him, I was convinced that somewhere that between foxy John's bar bike rental and that moment I had died and gone to heaven. We passed through Ventry, another seaside village, and continued several kilometers admiring the rocky cliffs. We reached the Slea Head, locked our bikes on the gate to a sheep field, and ate our packed lunch at a picnic table in the middle of a grassy area overlooking the magnificent view of the Blasket Islands and the Atlantic. It was still beautiful weather and I laid on the grass for a few minutes to appreciate its incredible softness. I declared that the only thing that would make this moment any better was a backrub, so we took turns giving backrubs to emphasize the sheer glory of the moment. Then we ran down a small road and steps to a small beach area, where we could see the cliffs from below. The sand felt good on our feet, but we could only loiter a short while as we were once again on a time budget! We climbed back up, and my bare feet felt like they were getting a pedicure on the rocky path upwards and when I wiped the wet sand off in the grass carpet near the bikes. Then we passed through Dún Chaoin, another scenic village.
The Dingle Peninsula is known for its archeological richness. Along the route were detours to ancient beehive huts, the stone Gallarus oratory, an original mud and stone cottage from the time of the Irish famine, and Reasc monastic site from the 4th century. I am so ashamed to say that I didn't get to take time for any of these detours because we didn't want to miss our bus !
The bikes were light and smooth, and we hardly had to bike uphill as we went along the coast. As we headed in the direction back to Dingle, however, the coastline disappeared, and the route introduced some uncomfortable inclines. The signs were in Gaelic and we came to a very confusing fork in the road. We biked a few minutes one way on a hesitant route- and then we turned around back to the fork in the road, hoping we would pick a turn that felt more like the right one. We passed through another village, Baile an Fheirtéaraigh and opted for a bathroom break. We were racing the clock at this point, as our bus was scheduled to leave at 3 p.m. back to Killarney. We pedaled and panted and at one point I thought my muscles had turned into flan. As I surrendered to walking my bike uphill a couple times, I blamed any lack of fitness on all the schnitzel and bratwurst indulging from the previous week, and in the sudden heat decided I was being weaned back from heaven into reality. But not so fast! Suddenly, we were speedily coasting downhill for at least a mile. I had to brake several times, and it was a nice surprise before reaching the end of the ride. We returned our bikes to the bar, picked up our bags from the bed and breakfast, and hopped on the bus back to Killarney. Killarney is much bigger than Dingle, but still a small town. We found a nice restaurant to eat, and I ordered Hot Irish Smoked Salmon. It was stuffed with creamy mashed potatoes and absolutely wonderful. We walked around to find Irish music, and found a crowded bar that was about to close, having a fun traditional session. There were bodhráns and fiddles and dancing in the corner, but I could hardly see! Noone had a seat.
Chelsea had to take a return train to Dublin early the next morning, to fly back to the states. We had opted to stay in a hostel instead of a bed and breakfast that night since we were nearing the end of our bank accounts. They served toast in the morning with some fatal, chemical margarine that soaked into the bread. It almost looked radioactive and the drenched toast was screaming "carcinogen"!- I opted to toss mine. We hopped on the bus to Cork.
We were becoming pros at storing our luggage, finding the tourist office, and quick grocery shopping, so shortly after we arrived we were on our way to the Cork train station with a meager loaf of bread (our budget was getting tighter than ever, but I didn't regret my purchase of smoked salmon the night before) We decided to take a trip to Cobh (pronounced Cove), which was a short train ride away. We knew it was leaving in the next 15 minutes and we didn't want to wait another hour for the next so we sprinted through Cork City for at least a mile. Following the map we came up to the train station, but saw that we had reached the rail yard on the back side. We started to creep around it to see if we could somehow get through it to the entrance but were quickly shouted at by the guard , WHAT ARE YOUS DOIN?!?! I felt like a criminal. We went around the block, and had to catch the train an hour later.
This port town was first named Cove, then Queenstown when Queen Victoria visited in the mid 1800's, and finally back to the name of Cohh. It was the last port of call for Titanic, although most famous for having set out from Southampton. I looked out in the port and tried to imagine this huge ocean liner leaving land for the last time. I have always been very interested in the Titanic so it was really cool to see Cobh. There are "Titanic Walking Tours" given by one guide but he was unavailable that day. He takes you to places related to the ship, such as the Old White Star Line office. I didn't realize its fame, but this tour has actually been featured on National Geographic, the BBC, Fox, etc.
Cobh was also one of the main ports used for emigration during the potato famine. We walked through a museum called "The Queenstown Story". In one display were lifesize emigrants in the bottom of a ship. They looked just absolutely miserable, one of them curled up thin and sickly in bed, while the sound of crashing waves was played on the speakers. It was a real eye opener to their suffering. Cobh was also a port for the prison ships deporting for Australia, and the place where the survivors from the RMS Lusitania were brought when struck by a German torpedo. Over 100 victims were also buried in the Old Church Cemetery north of the town.
There is a small Benedictine Bible Garden that was a peaceful break in our day. It had different meditations set up, including a stone display of Jesus’ tomb being open. There were beautiful flowers of all colors and it was higher up so there was a nice view of the surroundings.
We decided to peek at the cathedral in town, but ended up trying to enter just as we heard “Let us know take our beloved to his eternal rest” and the doors swung open… we ducked out of the scene rapidly!
We got back to Cork and Elizabeth's mom’s friend Mary picked us up and took us to a very fancy Thai restaurant- my mom was right in telling me there are a lot of splendid places to eat ethnic food in Ireland!
It was disappointing not to have a leisurely stay or see more in Cork, but we had to keep moving! We took a bus the next morning through Belfast to Portadown- the town where the teens came from during the Ulster Project. Maeve Judge was not there as we saw her in Dublin, but her parents gave us dinner and a nice place to stay. Her dad is a good storyteller. He pointed to the Drumcree church just off the road from her house- one of the main sites of trouble between the Catholics and the Protestants. I also met up with David Greer (who stayed with us during Ben’s year) and his family for lunch. Very nice people! I met up with a couple teens from my year and we were off again towards Dublin. We had showed up at the train station too early, and since I had my guitar with me, the fellow working at the train station played it- he was from Yorkshire and with his accent it almost sounded like he was speaking a different language.
We arrived back in Dublin that evening, and I decided it wouldn’t be right to not attempt to busk on Grafton Street. This is the street where the lead singer of the Frames, Glen Hansard spent five years before his fame. I played anything I had memorized- some of my songs, some Damien rice, some Tracy Chapman, and made about 9 euro in 30 minutes, which, converted, is about $30. We spent some of our earnings at O’Donahughes down the street and I decided it wouldn’t be a bad idea to quit school and live in Ireland.
We ate a quick meal and jumped on the DART train system to head back to Stillorgan Village, where we were staying with Betsy again. We knew we had to get off at the Booterstown stop, and since we were very sleepy.. we didn’t realize the screen had been broken for a while. Thinking it was taking far too long, we squinted our eyes out the dark windows and saw that we had gone waaay past our stop! We got off immediately. I could see the Irish Sea lapping up on shore and knew that we were definitely out of the city. There was not a single train going back in, only trains coming out. It was past midnight and the only other person in sight was an old woman walking towards us. Since I had made plenty of change playing guitar earlier I gave it to the woman for the pay phone. She tried calling for a taxi and when that didn’t work she called the police! During her conversation she announced that she was a Sister at the Loreto convent in Dalkey, and then demanded that they come pick us up! It was a long wait in an eerie place, so we found ourselves praying with her, as she called upon her Great Aunt Patricia who “has never let her down”. As a couple of drunks staggered about offering help she firmly and politely answered “No thank you the police will just be here in a moment”. At long last the Irish Garda showed up, Tommy and Aiden, Dublin policemen from Galway, drove our new friend to her convent, that was only one train stop away, and then drove us 140 km./hr. all the way to the house we were staying at. I don’t know what we would have done without our guardian angel nun, because we never would have though to call the police and if a taxi had worked out it probably would have cost well over 50 euro, and well over the amount that was in our pockets…It was our last night in Europe, and a satisfyingly adventurous one.
A week in Ireland was not nearly enough, and perhaps... I may be lucky enough to return someday. We were blessed with minimal rain and good hospitality, and it all just passed by too quickly. We flew out the next morning from Dublin, through Philly, and back to Kansas City…and I wrote my Ireland travel blog four months later! I do not have any adventures planned in the near future, and we shall see wherever I end up after Benedictine. Thanks for reading my entries and I hope I could give everyone a glimpse of the amazing semester that I blessed with.
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Aunt Mary Schmidt
non-member comment
a good journey
Thanks for sharing your adventures in your wonderful travel writing. I think you'd be a great travel companion. I can hardly wait to hear where you're going next...