Dublin

I have been mucking about in my brain thoughts of my visit to Dublin.  In truth, it was the least enjoyable portion of my trip.  Not Dublin's fault at all - it delivered what I asked of it but I think what my body and soul craved was the countryside.  I was happiest and most content there and I didn't realize how much until I hit Dublin.  It was jarring in a way.  Another time, another visit Dublin and I will probably bond.

So after leaving Paddy Hearny's cottage from the last post, I continued my journey to Dublin - ah, the driving - fantastic.  I hit the little seaside town of Bray which is about 20 miles south of Dublin - the very end of the DART southern line (the train to Dublin).  And it is here that my ignorance of public transportation reared its ugly head.  I assumed Bray had its own train that was like a bullet train up to Dublin - no stopping.  So how shocked was I when it took about an hour to go 20 miles.  I mean Dublin Area RAPID Transit.  The Rapid part is debateable especially when the train broke and we sat somewhere in the middle for 20 minutes.  Luckily I had a great girl to chat with the duration.  Her name was Maeve and a college student at Trinity.  I made it to Pearce station and step out and see this pub:  It was a Kennedy day! (It wasn't open.)

But after that I was just really, really lost.  My goal was to visit the Book of Kells at Trinity College.  So excited to such an ancient tome.  My map said Trinity was one block away but I saw nothing but business buildings and noise and cars and noise and people and noise.  Jarring.  I walked and got "lost-er and lost-er".  I finally just stopped in the middle of the sidewalk defeated - everyone I had asked was American or Australian and didn't know where I should go either.  A kind Irishman noticed my dejected/defeated vibe.  He stopped right in front of me and told me I looked lost.  I must have looked pretty pitiful.  He walked with me BLOCKS to the front of Trinity and shared with me the best spot for a bite to eat, banoffee pie and tea.  What a dear, dear man.  I hope he is one day sainted.  The patron saint of lost Southerners.

I was disappointed in Trinity also.  I thought it would be amazing, old and weighted with so much history and learning (I am sure there are parts that are but I didn't see them). The entrance that went to the Book of Kells was like a community college - lots of concrete.  The Book was fantastic to see but I had been living in a cloud of sensory yummy-ness since arriving in Ireland (the sights, sounds, smells, food, touching the stones and engravings) that the dark room with the book under deep glass felt cold.  I didn't linger but was glad I got to see it.  But, THEN, I visited the Long Room portion of the Old Library.  Oh my!  I remember thinking, "This is what I came for!"  It was in this room that Oscar Wilde, Jonathan Swift and so many others studied, thought, developed.  It smelled of old leather and books, visually it was divine.  It had a high, wooden arched ceiling - the longest in the world, I believe.  Shelves and shelves of rare books (no touching, of course.)  The presence of history was so strong - I got goosebumps.  I stayed there and just sat for a very long while.  Such Joy and Satisfaction.






My question is this: Why do so many churches
have red doors? 



Batteries recharged I went to find the cafe my Irish Saint recommended and I am happy to say I found it without incident.  I had bread and soup but also the banoffee pie that at least five people said I MUST have before leaving Ireland.  It was a lovely piece of heaven on a plate although quite sweet.  It is some mixture of bananas and toffee but not crunchy toffee.  I then strolled Grafton Street which is a huge pedestrian street full of shops - and lots of people.  I didn't go into one store- I just kept thinking I wanted to get into my car and just drive.  So I left.  I found my station and my train and endured 20 more stops on the way to Bray.  My Silver Bullet was as happy to see me as I was her.  ("Reunited and it feels so good...")  I drove and listened to Gaelic radio all the back to Portumna.  I didn't arrive until about 9pm tired and travel-worn and it is here that the incident that I described a few posts back about being sat at the front of the blacktie banquet happened.  I was very happy to have food and be back near my dad.  The countryside was where I belonged while in Ireland. 

I only took three pictures in Dublin.  I think that is pretty telling of how I was feeling.  This picture of Cat Deeley was an advertisement poster in a store window.  For those of you, like me, who are fans of So You Think You Can Dance - it might mean something (although what, I couldn't say).  To the rest (and admitted majority) of you it can be whatever you would like to make of it.  I just like writing with pictures and didn't have a lot of material to work with from Dublin <grin>

It happened on the way to Dublin...

Sunday was Dublin day.  My original plan was to drive to the east coastal town of Bray and catch the DART (Dublin Area Rapid Transit) to Pearce Station in Dublin.  It spits you out right at Trinity College.  My goal that day was to see the Book of Kells at Trinity.  I was convinced by the lovely Olive and other well-meaning Irish that taking a train from Ballinasloe would be the better choice.  The only problem I had was that no one ever really agrees how long it takes to drive anywhere.  You ask five times, you'll get five different answers.  So Sunday morning I picked a time to leave and missed the train. 

Blessed day, serendipity struck.

I love how all the signs in Ireland are in English and Irish.

I decided to go with my original plan to drive to Bray - a two hour trip.   No schedule, no hurry.  I loved driving.  Halfway there I saw this footpath sign.

It spoke to me and without hestitation I stopped.  This path was perfect - beautiful and scary.    

Beautiful because so many flowers were in bloom -


















and rivers were rambling


and fence stiles to be crossed. 

I then came to the Mill

Outside of the old mill

This walk was scary because as soon as I stepped into the old mill to check it out hundreds of crows flew straight up all around me.  It was fantastically terrible.  I nearly wet my britches.



There were so many more birds than this.  These were  the stragglers after I found my breath and my camera.



The paved area right behind him is the footpath.
You'll notice it continues around the house, through the gate.

  The thing with footpaths is that they often go through people's yards.  This one happened to go right by the front door and up the side of a home.  I felt a little awkward but continued ambling along the path for a good while.  On the way back, as I was walking past the front door, it opened and a gentleman of a distinguished age stepped out.  Being American, I immediately felt like I was trespassing and apologized.  He brushed aside my concerns and introduced himself as Paddy Hearny.  We chatted for a good while talking about how he used to lead hikes in the mountains of the area and me about my trip.  I told him how calm and peaceful and quiet my soul felt here.  He nodded and said my DNA recognized the soil.  
Was I looking for my ancestors?  he asked.
I said that the only person I was here looking for was myself. 
He smiled and said very simply and devastatingly, "Well, if you start looking for your people, you've got the look of the Kennedy's from up the road." 
My mom was a Kennedy.  Glenda Joy Kennedy.
I hadn't told him that. 

Our conversation ended a bit later with him telling me I should move here to be a tour guide as I am so nice and have such pretty teeth.  He walked with me to my car, gave me a hug and I continued my journey to Dublin.

"At the vulnerable age of thirty-five, Shannon lost her soul.  Nothing is worse;  no greater danger exists.  This was the point to which she had come in search of her lost best self.  If she could have explained clearly what she was doing, she would have said that she wanted to find the woman she had been.  If she could have described lucidly the essence of her journey across the Atlantic, she would have expressed the wish that here, in the country of her forebears, some ancient magic of ancestry might restore her.  Could it be that in the old land, of which she had so often dreamed, she might find, to begin with, hope?  But what she desperately needed to rediscover was belief....Find your soul and you'll live." 
Shannon by Frank Delaney p.3 (Again, pronouns changed to the feminine because it suits me better <grin>.  The main character's name is Robert Shannon - I left his first name out at the beginning.  Again, just to suit me. )

The Cliffs of Insanity!!

Warning!! If you are allergic to quaint thatched roof cottages please stop reading now!  The below post will be hazardous to your health and could possibly even cause death...consider yourselves warned!

I was so excited to wake up and head to the Cliff of Mohr!  I was also delighted to spend that day going with Olive and Martha.  Olive is Irish and lives in Athlone.  Her husband, Paddy, owns the Dojo sponsoring the camp.  Such lovely people - so very welcoming and kind!   Being with Olive was the first time I was able to spend some real relaxed downtime with an Irish lady.  This is what I learned:

In Ireland you can:



Olive Beaumont - my lovely guide



*use lots more words to make your point.

*cross yourself everytime you pass an Irish Catholic Church (I kid you not and there are many! - I loved it)

*Irish Gaelic and Scottish Gaelic aren't as similar as one might think.

*feel free to constantly correct yourself on the number of counties in Ireland...It's a little tricky with those extra 6 counties in No. Ireland mucking up the count.

*say "toilets" without blushing

This was taken on a hill looking down.  The rock walls
denote the serpentine road.  We stopped so I could get my
stomach back together!



Martha is American and came with Bill Hayes.  She was such great fun.  I was in the back of Olive's car, driving to the West Coast on roads that were so twisty I was seriously looking for a vomit bag.  But we stopped often and took tons of pictures of the famous thatched west coast cottages.  Getting air helped.  Some of these are new construction houses, some are old, but all are lovely.

At the Cliffs it was quite windy but that was fine. The cliffs themselves took my breath away - the wind seemed to give it right back.  "Aaassss you wiiiisssshhhhhhhhh"  (That line might seem out of place for those of you who haven't seen "The Princess Bride".  It is a great film - if you are in the mood to laugh.)



If you look closely you can see a path around the top and a few people.  The scale is massive!





Some Posh English attending the camp.  Steve, to the far
left, was the one that unfortunately for him called
me a Yankee.



When we arrived back in Portumna it was dinner time.  I really tried my best during our visit to not embarrass my dad.  Unfortunately, I think embarrassing moments tend to seek me out but I did try...However, the fact of the matter was that every night I would cruise in from a day of hiking, driving and site-seeing wearing unwashed jeans and a t-shirt with my hair blown every which way by that awesome Irish wind.  I looked  a little bit crazy but usually dinner was starting in the fancy restaurant at the hotel right when I would arrive.  Dad would save me a spot so in I would go trying not to notice the ladies with their make-up and sequins.  Each night our table was only about 10 or so of the sensei and their companions.  I'd like to think since they understood the nature of my trip that they forgave me my appearance.  The last night of camp was different, though. The previous dinners were small - about 10 people - the last night was in a ballroom with about 300 people dressed in formal attire (see picture) who didn't know who in the world I was.  My thought was to pop in and let dad know I had arrived safely from Dublin and then head to the pub for something small to eat.  But the very wickedly charming Paddy Beaumont, head of the camp, saw me and led me to the front of the room and gave me his seat next to his wife, Olive - FACING everyone.  It was like a panel of judges facing about 300 lovely people.  Nowhere to hide.  Remember, me:  jeans,t-shirt, baseball cap. Basically looking like a homeless person they had drug off the street.  Mortifying! - if only I could have borrowed a sequin or two I might have had a chance of blending - but no - no sequins, no mascara (at least none left on my eyes - there was plenty smeared under!)  Also, everyone had finished eating but a plate was found for me so there I was sitting at the front of the room chomping away at my food in my dirty clothes.  I begged to be sat in the back but I was facing the full force of Paddy's Irish charm and lost.  Awesome.  I am not sure I can convey in words the beautiful insanity of the moment.  By the end of the evening not only was I eating alone in front of everyone looking like a hobo but I had the spotlight while a gift was presented to me by the dear, sweet Irish and my Dad made a speech and expressed his joy in our trip together.   For a few minutes I didn't care a bit what I was wearing, I was just happy and grateful to be alive in that moment.