Athlone

I shared a snack with a buddy at Clonmacnoise.  He only spoke the Irish so I had to put on my best Leprechaun accent so he would understand.  Bless his heart it looked like he had been through quite a time - he was covered in stitches.  At least someone loved him enough to put him back together again.  When life hits you like a fast moving car, having someone help you stitch yourself back together is priceless.  Many people have done that for me in different ways but a special place will always be saved especially for my Dad.  It was here that I learned that when you order a sandwich with salad it does not mean you get a lovely salad on the side with your sandwich.  What it means is that you get a few wilted pieces of lettuce stuck between your sliver of meat and your 1/2 inch of butter on your bread slices.  My friend here ate most of my meal.



My butter sandwich with "salad"



A beautiful, colorful street in Athlone

After leaving Clonmacnoise I decided to test my driving chops and head to the big city, Athlone.  I was terrified!  Driving in the country was demanding but it didn't have the extra issues of people, lots of traffic in many directions and traffic signals.  The traffic lights are placed differently than in America and so on top of "keeping my arse in the middle of the road" I needed to really watch for the lights.  It was important I get there because on my  "must do"  list was Sean's Bar.  I wanted to go there for a few reasons.  First, because it is my son's name and he would get a kick out of seeing it and secondly it is the oldest pub in Ireland (many claim the title but the Guiness Book of World's Records has given it to Sean's Bar.  They dated the walls to about 990 AD).  My day revolved around the Saints (St. Ciaran at Clonmacnoise) and the Sinners (this pub being set up about the same era). 

I park at a shopping center and heave a big sigh of relief for not killing or maiming anyone - there were some close calls.  I needed to use the restroom so I headed into the mall area to find a place. 

The search for my name took me to
shameless places - the back of a
"toilet" door

Funny story:  I walk into this fast food-ish type place, order a drink and ask where the restrooms are.  The conversation went something like this:
"Where are the restrooms?"
"The what?"
"The Restrooms?" (in a louder voice)
"The restaurant?"
"The bathrooms?" (me trying a different angle)
"What?"
"The...the...(it was here that the word WC and loo eluded me)
Girl employee walks by and slaps the Boy on the arm:
"She means the Toilets, you idiot!"

 The boy and I sighed in relief.  In Ireland and in Scotland bathrooms are called "Toilets".  I didn't know this and now I do.  However, it was hard for me to ask for "Toilets" - seemed a bit blunt - but when in Rome...So from there on out I did the best I could to remember to ask for "Toilets" but blushed a rose color every single time.

The Shannon

The Athlone Castle was closed for renovations but as the river Shannon cuts right through the town I got to see more things devoted to me!  She is lovely and slow moving.  I kept looking for a park to get close but there was none.  I was really getting perplexed as to how I was to reach her/swim in her/touch her when she seemed so out of reach.  But no matter, Sean's Bar called.



I thought this use of my name was awesome since I am
a Water Commissioner here in my town!





I became pretty proficent at walking into bars in Ireland.  It requires a bit of bravado on my part.  You see there are eating pubs and drinking pubs - but make no mistake they all sell spirits but some also gift you with food.  Being a woman traveling alone it was awkward walking into a drinking pub filled entirely with men.  I have rarely in my life felt more out of place.  Not even in the countryside of rural Japan.  But out in the country in Ireland, as I mostly was on this trip, "toilets" (it seems toilets even written require me to put quotes - I obviously have issues - but being the offspring of a man who calls chicken "breasts" chicken "chests", I think I might be doing just fine) were hard to come by.  I came to be pretty good at figuring out which were eating pubs but not always.  Sean's Bar was a drinking pub.  Dark, sawdust floor, low-ceilinged, full of men.  I was hoping I could get some soup there.  It was one of  "those" moments - sink or swim.  I walked in and all conversation stops, all the men at the bar turned to look at me.  Holy Crap.  It was 2 in the afternoon so I was hoping it would be empty.  I was wrong.  I girded my loins and walked straight up to the bar, leaned in between two men (saying a very polite "excuse me, of course) and asked for a water (with ice!) and a cup of soup and soda bread.  I did it, I got it, I ate it and I think they were happy to see me go.  They were super nice but I noticed their conversation was much more stilted and contained, proper, when I was there.  I thought it was a fantastic place and would go again regardless of who I make uncomfortable.

This picture doesn't do the soup and bread justice - totally yummy!  Although I couldn't tell you what kind of soup it was...veggie, maybe?

 Final funny story:  That night I was chatting with some karate folk from England with a few of the Americans I had met.  There were a couple of conversations going on and I hear to the side, "I'd like to get a picture of the Yankees."  Only half understanding/listening the only thing that registered was "Yankee".  Now, I have been called a few nasty things in my 40 years, but being Southern, never in all my born days have I been called a Yankee.  Where I come from it journeys far from "not polite" conversation.  So, of course, I immediately turn and say, "Did you just call me a Yankee?"  "Yes, why?" asks the very kind and perplexed Brit.  "No one has ever called me that.  I am from the South and it is rude."  "Oh right," he says "the whole war thing - so sorry about that."  "No, Silly!  Not THAT war.  I am fine with that one because we totally kicked your butts.  I am talking the Civil War!"  I was so full of...."tact" that night.  Regardless, he is now the best educated Brit regarding things that get Southerners knickers in a twist.  I told him "Yank" is fine, but add those double ee's on the end and all bets are off.  Bless his heart.

Isn't this the loveliest gate? Don't you want to walk through it every day and know that everything on the otherside is placed, chosen and awaiting your pleasure just as it has done for generations before?  I do.

Clonmacnoise

(Warning!!  This next post has many pictures of old rocks/stonework.  If you are allergic please don't read any further!)



Rock wall plus another rock wall near Clonmacnoise



The next morning I drove probably 30 miles which took about an hour but felt like two.  The roads are narrow, serpentine and bordered on both sides by rock walls.  There is no where to go and people drive fast!  I was pleased to find that they drive courteously also.  If you are in front and someone behind wants to pass you pull over when you can.  They on the other hand patiently wait until that time - or at least the ones behind me did.

I was headed to Clonmacnoise in Co. Offaly.  It was an important destination for me as it fit my criteria of close to Portumna and old.  I also found it fitting as it was/is a pilgrimage site and I felt Ireland was a bit of a pilgrimage for me.  A pilgrimage can be defined as a journey of moral or spiritual significance.  This trip had that for me and as this site was located on the Shannon River it was perfect.

 I was greeted by a pilgrim as I first arrived:

Clonmacnoise was founded in about 548 AD (548!!) by St. Ciaran.  He positioned it perfectly at the central crossroads in Ireland - on the Shannon waterway running N/S and the main Irish road running E/W.  The positioning was a good thing in that it allowed the monastery to become quite properous and large - more of a village than monastery.  But the fact that it was prosperous and at major crossroads opened it up for a lot of raiding and pillaging.  It seemed to be a grand pastime for many as Clonmacnoise was raided repeatedly over the years by the Irish, English and Vikings.

But it is beautiful!  Here are some of the pics.

The Round Tower 1124 AD.  It is hard to tell how high it is in the picture but it goes way up.  Also that first opening at the bottom is about 80 ft off the ground - that is the only way in.



Detail from the Cross of the Scriptures.



Cross of the Scriptures.  One of the finest of the High Crosses in Ireland. 900 AD



Temple Melaghlin AD 1200



The Cathedral - constructed in 909 AD



This is "The Castle".  It has been a ruin since about 1300.



I enjoyed it all and wandered for hours.  I could look as long as I wanted!  No need to hurry...



Temple Ciaran ca. 900 AD



Then I came to Temple Ciaran where he is reputed to be buried.  There are about 6 churches at Clonmacnoise and this is the smallest.  They say his hand was kept here as a religious relic into the 1800's.  I would love to see a religious relic.  Sadly, it isn't there any longer - I checked and checked a few more times...

It is here, at Temple Ciaran, that the pilgrim's path begins (or ends).  I walked it - each stone very carefully and with intention.  I loved putting my feet where those for thousands of years have as well.  I love being connected that way.  I considered attempting the path on my knees but as I was wearing my Lucky's ...let's just say there is only so much I am willing to sacrifice for enlightenment <grin>.  The gate at the back leads to a footpath which leads to the Nun's Chapel.

Footpath to Nun's Chapel

My favorite thing  is footpaths.  They are like little enchanted adventures beckoning.  It is even better when they have little stairs that help you over the fences.  This was the first one I saw that was made of stone - it was usually wood.  You walk up one side and down another!  How very helpful!  Everytime I saw one I couldn't help but take a picture.  If I ever write a book it will probably be about footpath stair thingys (The Coffee Table Book of Footpath Stair Thingys.  I bet they have a real name.) Anyway, the pilgrim's path led to a footpath which led to my favorite, favorite spot.  The Nun's Chapel. 

Nun's Chapel

Although Clonmacnoise was not too crowded there were just enough people to make me aware.  But here, here I was utterly alone.  Completely, blissfully alone and it was here that it finally sank in where I was and how happy I was to be here.  I then took this picture. 

These are all little dragons holding a bar in
their mouths.

I stayed forever.  I marveled at the detailed carvings in the stone, at the fact that this lovely structure was in someone's backyard, the peace.  I tried to imagine all the people who might have found joy and solace here.  The tremors of history felt so strong. 

I loved his face!  I wonder if this is a self-portrait or maybe of a family member. 
There were many faces but his was the best!

Monk? Priest? Father? Brother? Farmer? King?



Detail of the dragon



And all of this was along the Shannon River but with no access.  I kept saying hi and she kept saying hi back.  I told her I would find a way to get closer - she said she could wait.

Portumna: 1 Convenience Store, 2 Banks, 5 Bookmakers, 49 churches and 50 Pubs

Behind the Shannon Hotel is the Portumna Castle.  So lovely and so perfect for my first day there.  It is really a manor house but I didn't care.  It was old (1500's), there was a Friary from the 1400's right next door to the castle with a beautiful cemetery attached.  The Shannon River was also right there to welcome me.  I said Hi and she said Hi right back.





Through an entryway at one of the Portumna Castle's outbuildings



This is the back of the castle.  It was supposed to be open but wasn't.  That was OK the rocks enthralled me.  Beware, most of my pics are of stones and rocks!



An entryway  to some of the outbuildings around the castle

Chapel of the Friary

The Friary with the cemetery.  I was sad there was a fence.  I considered climbing over and taking my chances since I had an "in" with Ambrose, the Garda.

Ann "Booby" Bui and Shannon "Moonbaby" Nakano

After soaking up as much of the town and castle as I could I went back to the hotel to eat and meet many of the karate people in the pub.  What a great bunch of people.  Met an amazing woman named Ann Bui who came with the Peoria, Illinois dojo.  She has been here a few times before and was kind enough to introduce me to many of the Irish she knew - and she knew most!

  

A funny story:  I was gushing to a few of the fine Irish about how wonderful I thought it was that there were so many bookmakers in Ireland.  I mean even in this little town of Portumna there were so many craftsman keeping the tradition of handmade books alive and obviously thriving as there were so many for even this little town!  I was so excited I couldn't wait to visit them tomorrow!  I went on and on.  However, being the excellent reader of human faces that I am, I noticed that most were near tears with laughter.  When they could talk coherently they let me know that visiting was probably not the best idea as these were gambling halls and not innocent "bookmakers".  Bummer.  Although, I did kinda wonder why none of them displayed books in their windows...I was going to suggest that they should <grin>.

I returned to my room fairly early as I was utterly knackered.  I remember standing there gazing at the room and the 3 beds that came with my room (not sure why I rated a 3-bed-room), my stuff strewn everywhere, and no one to take care of but me.  Those are rare moments and then to realize tomorrow would bring the same - there was joy and hope.  The last few years have been a struggle and I was ragged.  But I was hopeful, with the ties that bind loosened, I might be able to hear the voice, a voice inside that I recognized.  I just needed a little hope. 
And then I started reading the book given to me by my friend Kristin in honor of this trip, Shannon  by Frank Delaney.  Fitting, yes?
I read this which rang true for me:  (I have changed the pronouns to female - the main character is male)

"But if all went well - if the green stillness of Ireland brought recovery, if the River healed her, if in her roots she found the way back to herself - she could resume her true life.  This belief, based solely on hope, gave her energy...Lose your soul and you'll die...Find your soul and you'll live."

One of many pathetic, out of focus
self-portraits!

The Only Thing Left Was the Getting There...

6 April 2011 -
9:30pm - I am at JFK Airport.  I have two flights down and one left to go.  This is my last one - when I land I will be in Ireland.  I am in line at Customs? Immigration?  Not really sure but this where the passport is very key.  I know if there is something wrong with my passport then that final flight, that final leap to Ireland will not be taken.  It was an important moment and I felt it.  But I had checked my passport repeatedly over the last 6 months, I had others check it, I dreamed about it.  It is my turn to step up to the grumpy man.  I hand him my passport and smile with all the Southern charm my mama taught me.  He looks at my passport, he looks at me and says, "You realize you have handed me an invalid passport?"

EARLIER THAT DAY:

10am - I am standing outside in the driveway of my parents' home my kids are buckled in Patsy's car.  What a great woman to do this - there are few people I would trust more with my children - I was grateful but couldn't stop crying.  I would miss my chatty, crazy, rambunctious, loving, sweet, kissable children.  That last goodbye was rough.  But Patsy had mercy and left before I could get a really ugly cry started.  I then took a deep breath, centered myself and danced a little jig.  All that was left was the getting there.

1pm - Dad and I arrive at Asheville Airport for a 3pm flight.  He drops me off and goes to park the car.  We are super early and feel really relaxed and comfortable.  Asheville Airport is so small you breeze through everything.  I go up to the counter to check-in.  I am immediately told that my flight to Atlanta was cancelled and my new flight is leaving in 20 minutes. They told me in rapid Southernese that  I needed to rush through now, now, NOW!  I, not knowing what else to do, went into panic mode.  I was telling them my dad was on his way  - they were telling me to go on without him - I was telling them  NO - they said YES!  So I did what every 40 year old mature woman does in such a situation:  I left all my stuff at the counter, ran outside to the parking lot and yelled, "Daddy!  Daddy!!!  Daddy!!!!!"  And do you know that it worked?  It weirdly always does.  You call your Daddy and he comes.  We race through everything and as soon as we sit in the plane and clasp hands, we take off. (I am not a great flyer and tend to grab people's hands during take-offs - it helps when it is people I know <grin>)

5:30pm - Atlanta - All is well here except the whole country is delayed because Obama is flying out of JFK.

9:30pm - We arrive at JFK and are in the passport line (see above).  "You realize you have handed me an invalid passport?"  Those were his exact words.  I wasn't sure at the the time (and still not sure now) whether it was a question or statement.  I could feel my blood turn to ice, the blood rush from my head, my pupils contract - I broke out in a cold sweat.  Everything hinged on this moment I had known this for 6 months and somehow I had failed.  He was of course waiting for an answer to his question/statement.  I shook my head, beyond words, almost beyond standing.  I wanted this trip with every cell of my being.  He just looked at me for a long time (it felt long - it was probably two seconds), held up my passport and showed me where I hadn't signed it.  He asked if I would like to validate it now.  I nodded, still couldn't get the words out.  He handed me the pen and I could barely hold it I was shaking so badly - my signature is hardly recognizable - but then I was waved through...and I walked and walked and breathed and breathed until I saw this:

It still took me hours to stop shaking.  And that is NOT letting the truth get in the way of a good story.




I loved seeing my name everywhere!

Dad nor I slept the entire flight.  When we landed it was 9:30 am in Ireland but 3:30am in NC.  Brutal, but I was high on adrenaline.  When we landed the first thing I saw was my name.
 

Thanks to Dad's "celebrity" status at this camp we had a kind guy named Ambrose meeting us and escorting us to Portumna.  Ambrose is a Garda or a member of the Irish Police Force.  I didn't know this at the time.  While Dad went to the restroom, Ambrose and I went to the rental car counter to get my keys.  Before the person would give me the keys they really gave me the third degree about how well I drove and was I aware and comfortable driving on the opposite side of the road and the opposite side of the car with a manual shift,etc.  It was such a grilling that I was afraid I wasn't going to get the car if I didn't sound confident so I responded with lines like:  "I have totally done this before, not a problem!  I know exactly what I am doing!"  I finally convinced them, I grabbed the keys and stepped away from the counter.  Ambrose was there through this whole exchange with the car people so when we were out of earshot I just looked at him and said, "I totally lied...I have no idea what I am doing or how to drive on the other side of the road!  I am probably going to get a million tickets, hit every car I pass -  if not kill someone!" When I glanced at him he had a funny smile on his face and then informed me that he was a policeman.  Ugh!  He told me I would do fine but he was going to give me his number in case I needed it.  I figure with him being Garda and all it could have gone a few different ways but it was the first of many kindnesses the Irish showed me.

Dad and I rode in the Silver Bullet all the way to Portumna.  Dad was about to "wee-wee" in his britches the entire time, he was so un-nerved by the whole experience.  I found that hysterical but on further reflection it made me think he might not trust my driving. Huh.  Anyway, that first drive I got to just stay behind Ambrose and follow him.  I did what he did, turned when he turned.  It was just enough to get me somewhat used to the roads.  The roads were like nothing I had ever seen before - more about them later.

Then, suddenly, I was there at the Shannon Oaks Hotel.  I could relax because I had made it.  Except I couldn't relax because I couldn't seem to figure out the doors, elevator, electricity, money, ordering food at the pub or how the shower worked.  Apparently, you have to "call" elevators (don't push the arrow buttons) and turn on electrical sockets.  I think with the doors I was just tired.  The Irish men who helped me figure them out said as an American I should know how to work doors.  I told him I knew how to work American doors but these Irish ones...they're a little tricky.   It felt like I was in a foreign country! <grin>  It was amazing - I felt so alive and challenged...and tired.   Thankfully, the pillows in Ireland worked the same as here and they certainly beckoned but right behind the hotel there was something else beckoning... 

It wasn't even a close competition - sleep was not a high priority on this trip and this was waiting for me right behind the hotel through a path hugged by ancient yew trees.

"Just Keep Your Arse in the Middle of the Road and You'll Do Fine..."

This is me on April 8th, 2011 at The Nun's Chapel, ClonMacNoise, Co. Westmeath, Ireland.  I am utterly alone with the rocks, moss and ruins.  I love this picture because I feel happy, content and victorious.  It is my first non-jet-lagged day in Ireland (so I was feelin' happy) and I had driven a good 45 minutes without killing myself or any unsuspecting Irish folk (that's the victorious part).  Praise the Lord!  I am also victorious because all of my joy,dreaming, planning, excitement, nervousness, joy, dread and joy again had finally come to fruition.  I do lots of dreaming and planning but not always with results, sadly. 

I named her "Silver Bullet" (Perry's like to name their cars). 

The six months of planning was fierce.  I love planning.  I love mapping out every single scenerio - looking at all my options - and then picking the best one.  It drives Tak nuts - but lucky for him he wasn't involved in the planning of this one, so lucky for me I got to visit and re-visit every single detail ad nauseum (and I did!).  There was, of course, the itinerary.  Thinking about the itinerary led me to how I was to be going about said itinerary.  I researched public transport but the small town  where the karate camp was being held, Portumna, didn't have a lot of options.  That left either walking and staying REALLY local or driving.  I took a deep breath and chose to drive.  My dad was teaching the entire time he was there- it would just be me out and about during the day.  So there was the rental car reservations, the hotel reservations, buying my UK map for my TomTom and making sure my navigator had the proper Irish accent (that was important!)  I looked at my passport at least 20 times to make sure it was valid, it was good, that was my picture, it wasn't expired.  That would be the one thing that could just wash this whole trip down the toilet -so I obsessed .



These were my boots.  They are pretty beat up now.
They came home covered in Irish soil with a
bit of Shannon River muck (for good luck!)



But in truth what I spent the most time doing was planning what I was going to pack.  I knew I was taking my Mom's Brighton luggage - I wanted her along.  She would've/should've been on this trip and she would have used her fancy luggage.  Unfortunately, her fancy luggage was carry-on sized and I got it in my head that for the 3 weeks I was gone I would only use a carry-on.  I have my crazy moments and totally own this one as being one of them.  However, there was a certain joy in finding the perfect single pair of shoes to take.   And the best three pairs of pants (my Lucky Sweet and Lows were top on the list as they were comfortable and had shamrocks on them!)  I also wore my Mom's high school class ring - she went everywhere I went.

I also got lots of advice:

Most un-needed:  "Tell everyone your Canadian"  The Irish really like Americans!  Well, you know....

Most contradictory - "Get a tattoo.  It's Ireland!"  "For heavens' sake do not get a tattoo, it's Ireland!"

Most practical:  "A water resistent coat will just not cut it - you MUST go waterproof."  I listened but never wore it as it was sunny the entire time.  I was lucky.

Most Gastronomical:  "When at the pub, order the soup and bread.  It's good, everything else is crap."  Nothing compares to Irish Soda bread in Ireland and they do make a very fine soup.

BEST ADVICE:  While in Flat Rock, visiting one of those shops that Mom and I would frequent, I was chatting with a shop lady who happened to be from Co. Cork.  I told her I was planning to be driving in Ireland and asked if she had any advice for me.  She said, "Absolutely!  Keep your arse in the middle of the road and you'll do fine."  I had to think about that for a bit and picture what she was saying but I got it!  and it settled in! and it made me a driving machine!  That might be taking it too far but it did give me more confidence and was what saved me (and many Irish innocents) from certain death.  That key point made driving in Ireland fun (and it was fun!)  When I was turning the car all I had to think about was making sure that I (the driver) ended up driving in the middle-side of the road not the outside. I must have repeated that line to myself a million times over there but what spot-on advice.  I injured no one!

Thanks for reading!

I swear we will get on a plane next post -  even set foot on Irish soil.