Why? Are there crocodiles in there?

Monday morning I awoke and with a very heavy heart realizing it was my last day in Ireland.  The days went fast but the moments dripped like honey - sweet honey.  I had so many moments of being entirely present that I felt  the trip was well absorbed by my soul but, being greedy,  I wanted more.  On this day my Dad was leaving to return to the USA and I was driving him to the airport.  It was a lovely drive, beautiful with such great company.  Spending time with dad - just he and I - has been rare in recent years as I have lived in Seattle.  I treasured every moment. 

Dad and I (Shannon) left the Shannon Hotel, turned left on Shannon Rd. and followed the Shannon River to the town of Shannon so I could drop dad off at the Shannon Airport and in the boot was the book by Frank Delaney, Shannon.  Sorry, that was sickeningly gratuitous - apologies!  I just wanted to see how many times I could get my name in one sentence; 7 it is!

After dropping Dad off with a teary good bye, my goal of the day was to gift my letter to the River; to soak my feet and possibly take a swim.  No more messing around with meek Hello's and shy waves.  This river and I were going to get to know one another.  At least that was MY plan.

I am brilliant at making assumptions and this was mine regarding the Shannon specifically and Ireland in general:  Like in America, there would be so many pull-offs and parks that I would have a plethora of choices.  I didn't realize that the Irish aren't as into frolicing in the water as Americans.  It took me all day to figure this out.  A conversation such as this one below took place about 5 times that day.

Me:  Hello, could you tell me how I might get to the Shannon River?

Kind Irish Folk:  Well, sure, it's right over that way...

Me: Yes, but where can I get access to it?

Kind Irish Folk: Why would you be wantin' to go there?  It's dangerous...you need to be careful.

Me: Why, are there crocodiles in it?  (I wasn't being sarcastic.  It was a serious question.  I kept getting the dangerous theme over and over and couldn't figure out what about this wide, meandering river could strike such fear. As I knew there were no snakes, thanks to St. Patrick <grin>, I couldn't think of anything else that should keep people out.)
Kind Irish Folk:  Well, no but it's dangerous all the same.



Lovely Hazel!

 I couldn't get any more of an answer than this and no one knew any place to actually get to the river.  Near the end of the day I was perplexed and frustrated and no closer to my goal.  At this point my friend, Hazel, called from Scotland.  I was flying up to see her the next day and we were finalizing our plans.  I told her I was trying to get to the Shannon River.  And do  you know the first thing out of her mouth was, "Och, be careful, Shannon!"  Thankfully, I knew her quite well and felt comfortable voicing my angst.  "Hazel, WHY are people telling me to be careful?  Why?  It is a river, for heaven's sakes!   I just want to be at the river! Why is it so unbelievably hard to get to?"  Happily, she had lived in America and could see things from my side.  She finally clued me in.  She said, "we just don't swim in rivers and lakes here as much like you do in America.  Usually the weather is so bad anyway so it just isn't done." 

Once she said this it all made sense, the clouds cleared, the world was set to rights and I laughed.  I laughed because it was a funny story about a cultural difference that took me forever to figure out; I laughed because try as hard as you might sometimes things just don't work out to one's expectations; I laughed because I was going to see Hazel tomorrow; I laughed because I hadn't eaten since breakfast and was close to fainting - hysteria was obviously setting in.  I could let my goal of the day go - I gave it my best shot.  It wasn't our day to be together - the river and I.  I had one more shot for a few hours at the end of the week before I flew to America.  I wasn't giving up yet.

 It was getting late so I decided to make a quick visit to Bunraddy Castle.  It was a real, gosh-darned castle from the 14th century with period furnishings.  So awesome!  My historian's soul rejoiced.

Couldn't completely capture the height of the castle.  It was such a great spot to visit.

This is where the drawbridge would have been!  I had to rush as they were about to close!  I practically ran the whole way from the bottom to the top of the castle. I made myself sick on the twisty, narrow turrent steps.

This is one room inside the castle.  There are six stories and all are set up the same.  There is a great room and then
at the four corners in the turrets are the bedrooms, chapels, kitchens, etc. with stairs.  These tapestries were
gorgeous and huge!  I tried to capture the enormous scale but it just doesn't come across.

 

Sorry, it's a little dark, but I loved the face on the coat of arms.



This is a portion of the rock wall around the castle.  I walked back and forth many times rubbing my hand along
the moss.  I wish the picture did the softness of the moss justice.  I was in tactile heaven.

 

There was a  historic village outside of the castle and this was
one of the cottages - The Shannon Farmhouse.
They even had a peat fire going to welcome me home.



This is where I ate my dinner before heading back to my hotel for the evening.
Delicious!  Recommended by my friend, Jenn.  Thanks, Jenn!





We Americans can't seem to help but take pictures of telephone booths.  Isn't this one charming?  I don't imagine that our telephone booths capture their interest quite as much.



This is the view from the top of the castle.  There in the background is the "dangerous" Shannon - taunting me.

That night I was alone for the first time in my life without a soul knowing where I was.  I couldn't call anyone as my phone was out of power and I had left a string of electronic cords across Ireland which included my phone converter. My seclusion was complete.  It was a very vulnerable feeling but it also felt right - my sense of solitude deepened.  I had found this quote on a bookmark by Carl Sandberg before I left on my trip:
"It is very necessary now and then for a man to go away by himself and experience loneliness;  to sit on a rock in the forest and to ask himself, 'Who am I, and where have I been, and where am I going?'"
That was my goal and that was what I felt - utterly, completely and peacefully.