A Journal of our Trip Through Ireland
September 5, 2023: Aer Lingus JFK to Dublin, arriving the morning of the 6th. After an interesting taxi ride, during which the driver clued us in on what to expect: no guns, very safe city, no Union Jack flown anywhere in Ireland, EU (which “takes too much and gives too little”) was creating problems “forcing” Ireland to accept Ukrainians (and there were already “Pakis and Indians, declaring themselves gay when they weren’t”) at a huge cost to Ireland. We didn’t know enough to argue with him and accepted what he said; we learned more about the politics of Ireland as our trip progressed.
First stop: Staunton on Green, our “home” for the next 6 days. We immediately left to start walking the city. And who should we bump into immediately across the street in St. Stephen’s Park? James Joyce! Well, his statue. Peter was in heaven, envisioning walking in Joyce’s footsteps. We had our first of many Guinness and fish and chips and were in bed by 8.
September 7: “All happiness depends on a leisurely breakfast.” (John Gunther) and BIG and leisurely it was. We came to depend on porridge and some wonderful egg dishes throughout our trip. It satisfied us until our early suppers. Our first stop was next door: a lovely small church, once Anglican, now Catholic, where I lit my usual two candles for my two daughters and their families, thinking of each member. (I am blessed!) From there, walking through the Park, with which we became very familiar, to Trinity College, and the Kell’s exhibit (overrated I thought), and the Long Room, a gem of old, old, books lovingly preserved. Another Guinness. A 3.5-mile day and to bed at 10.
September 8: Up at 8, another big breakfast, and to the museum “next door”, the MOLI, Museum of Literary Ireland. What could intrigue Peter more? There was a large exhibit honoring Brendan Behan whom Peter and I remembered as living at the Chelsea Hotel, so an “honorary” New Yorker. There was a huge wall-length chronology of the life of James Joyce, featuring Nora, his wife, and children (who knew?) and generally a very fine, small, museum. We walked the Inveagh garden that abuts the hotel and museum and for which you need a key. Wandered some more around town, and enjoyed the Molly Malone statue, the buskers, and the very young crowd. The energy in the city is palpable and contagious! We walked 4.2 miles (and I did yoga, thanks to Trish’s video recording). To bed at 10.
September 9: A Saturday, had the alarm set for 8, got up and had breakfast by 9, came back to the room and both of us slept from 10-1. Unbelievable! We’ve never done that before, but in the words of Carol’s doctor “we’ve never been this old before!” Our adventure for the day, however, was the Martello Tower.
We walked to the Dart, took it to Sandy Cove, and had a lovely beach walk to the Tower. It was a beautiful day so lots of people were in the water, fun to watch. The Tower is one of 29 still standing in Ireland. They were originally designed to protect the United Kingdom from invasion during the Napoleonic wars of 1804. It is a formidable climb up. Joyce actually only spent 6 days there in 1904. Oliver Gogarty, Joyce’s University friend, and subsequently Buck Mulligan in Ulysses, had leased it. It has artifacts from Joyce, including a reconstructed living space, his guitar, and a vest on view. Volunteers provide oversight and history. An important item on Peter’s “lifetime to do” list, was achieved!! Back “home” by 10, yoga, and to bed.
September 10: It was a drizzly day; we set out for the Archeology Museum but it was closed till 1. We went to The Little Museum which gave us an overview of Irish history. Important dates: 1916 uprising, 1922 “free” state of Ireland but part of Great Britain. Ireland was neutral in WW 2 but 50,000 Irish lost their lives to serve with England, Canada, or the United States. On to the Archeology Museum where we spent our time with the Vikings and the “peat people.” The Vikings had a civilization in Dublin about which not much is known. (One of the joys of Ireland is learning about all that is still buried and has never been unearthed. It was described as “in the 50’s Ireland was too poor to do any excavating and by the 60’s there were protest movements against large building complexes.” To their benefit, I believe. The “peat people,” however, were an eye-opener on how a thing over time can be preserved. We stopped by the National Gallery for a quick look. After a pub supper, we went to Foley’s for music by Dan Elliott – very enjoyable. A young woman asked my permission to dance with “my husband.” I said yes and Peter enthusiastically embraced her and twirled her around the floor. Everyone delighted in it. The pleasures of Irish pubs! Home by 12.
September 11: It was a rainy, rainy day. We wanted to get to the James Joyce Bridge and the other side of the Liffey River, a long walk in the rain. We did see the house at 15 Usher’s Island described in “The Dead,” a Joyce short story, took a tram ride and bus rides, and ended up at Dublin Castle, truly an artifact leftover from English “administration.” I was shocked by it and asked the docent why it hadn’t been blown up in 1922. She smiled and said up until 1940 it was likely, but the Irish had since decided to incorporate it into their history, a very mature stance, I believe, unlike our dismantling everything of the Confederacy from the Civil War. Tired though we were, we walked to O’Neill’s pub. I had a delicious Irish Stew (lamb). Peter had beef. There was music but it was very loud and not very good we thought. We left early. It was a 7.8-mile day!
September 12: Today is the start of a new adventure, the day our driver, Toby Cullen, picks us up for a two-week drive along the Wild Atlantic Coast, taking in the small towns, peninsulas, and islands of the south and west coast of Ireland. After a detour to once again go to 15 Usher’s Island (goodbye, James Joyce!) we headed for Wicklow mountains and a short but very beautiful hike. On to Glendalough, the monastery scene of St. Kevin, interesting stone buildings. On to Cashel where we would sleep the next 3 nights. Our hotel was Bailey’s, certainly not Staunton caliber but very pleasant staff who got our laundry done!
September 13: My first full Irish breakfast which turned out to be black and white pudding which isn’t pudding at all but a “sausage” of pork (white) or beef (black) and tastes like a grain, not at all a sausage. Anyway, an acquired taste! Toby got us at 9:30 and we went to Kilkenny Medieval Mile Museum, beginning the restoration of an old church and a tour of the town. It has an interesting history, Normans, Vikings, and lots of medieval buildings with a thin facade of cement over clay and stone. The next stop was Kilkenny Castle which was really a private house for many centuries, owned by English nobility (the Spencer’s of Diana fame). It stood empty from the 30s to the 70s when it was taken over by the National Trust. That night we went to Monks in Thurles, Toby’s town, where the Irish music kept expanding to eventually have 14 performers on some instruments I didn’t recognize. We left at 11 after our first full night of real Irish music in a real Irish pub!
September 14: It is the Rock of Cashel day but first we drove out to the property in town that Pakie [brother to my yoga teacher] and his wife, Rita, just bought. Big! Impressive! I hugged him instantly and we agreed to meet for dinner at Bailey’s at 7. The Rock of Cashel is a collection of medieval buildings including a fortified castle, a cathedral, a Romanesque chapel, and a Round Tower. For more than 1000 years it was the seat of royal and religious power which Cromwell destroyed in the late 17th century. We drove on through the Knockmealdown Mountains, rhododendron country which the Irish now consider an invasive plant and want to get rid of. We stopped by another “castle” bought 30 years ago by Cyril Cullen filled with “stuff”, knitwear (his design), porcelain for sale, etc., well worth the 12 euros admission. We met Pakie and Joan, his daughter, at Bailey’s pub. Peter wanted to be sure we got a table so tipped the waiter very generously, only to discover Pakie had “his” booth there and was a regular. It was a lovely 3-hour dinner. We agreed on the state of politics in the US and he said he and Rita wanted their three kids to return to Ireland. We understood completely. Ireland has a vibrancy, an energy, a positivism that is lacking in the US. (It also has a 10 billion euro surplus thanks to US Tech and pharmaceutical companies moving some operations there.)
September 15: Had another good breakfast and prepared to leave Bailey’s. It was not as luxurious as the Staunton but the staff were so accommodating I felt I was letting a friend down by leaving. We drove to Waterford, the oldest city, a Viking city, on a pouring rainy day. We walked up the Reginald Tower, another round tower, which is the oldest building in Ireland still in use. It has “stumble steps,” deliberately uneven, making wielding a sword impossible if you’re right-handed. We arrived in Kinsale late afternoon staying at Perryville, a lovely Georgian building. We dropped our bags and headed for Fishy Fishy, recommended, and very good. We enjoyed walking in the picturesque town which became our favorite.
September 16: We were supposed to go to Cape Clear but it was very overcast so we went to “The Titanic” experience. The Titanic was actually built in Belfast (where there is also a museum), sailed to Southhampton England to pick up passengers, then on to Queenstown (Cobh) Ireland now, to pick up more. It had approximately 2,500 people on board, mostly 3rd class. There were reproductions of a 3rd class room and 1st class suite, toilets every 10 rooms for 3rd class and every 2 for 1st class. They struck the iceberg on April 15, 1912, and sank with 700 survivors rescued by the Carpathian. The exhibit and story were well done, describing some of the usual machinations by the White Star Line in building it to save money. From there to Strike Island a fortress/prison particularly after the 1916 uprising. Peter and I first walked the perimeter, 2.5-miles and then explored the prison. It was a good history lesson. There were rebels imprisoned but it all seemed pretty lax, some even escaped. Kinsale is a “foodie town” so we had another good roasted hake dinner and to bed!
September 17: We drove to The Garden of Remembrance where an American nurse at Lenox Hill, of Irish descent, used her Irish property to honor firemen who died at the Towers on 9/11, by planting 300 trees. It is lovely and moving. From there to Blarney Castle which I thought would be a tourist trap. It sort of was. It cost 32 euros for 2 seniors and by now, we had been to several castles. But Peter, ever the adventurer, climbed and watched 2 men kiss the Blarney stone! On your back, arms outstretched, someone hanging on to your torso while you stretch and kiss. (Another man takes your picture which you can buy on the way out.) You kiss it to achieve lifelong loquaciousness – Churchill supposedly did it! The gardens and arboretum, however, were a high point, and walking the property was a pleasure. Back to Kinsale, a scallop dinner and bed.
September 18: The goal today is Kenmare, Brookline Hotel. We went by way of Glendore, Baltimore, Bantry, Glengariff over the Caha Mountains, very steep, into Kenmare. We checked into the hotel and proceeded to our usual walk around town. There was not much to see. Kinsale was much more attractive but we did our 2.5-miles. We had a good dinner. I had my first lamb roast; Peter had salmon in a cajun spice, ready for bed at 8. How did we get so tired from doing nothing but riding in the car all day?
September 19: The whole point of the day was to travel the Ring of Kerry which circumnavigates the Iveragh Peninsula. You see Carrantuohill, Ireland’s tallest mountain at 3,414 feet. The highlight for us was a stop at Kell’s Bay which Beth Gallagher [fellow yogi] had recommended, a fern paradise. It was pouring rain but we walked every trail, only 2.8 miles but magnificent. Peter did the “skywalk”, a rope bridge and we encountered lots of carved dinosaurs from fallen logs. We had a Thai lunch in the Cafe and continued on our way around the Ring, stopping at Valentia Island and a limestone quarry, Ireland’s “marble”.
September 20: Breakfast this morning included either Bailey’s or Jamison’s for our porridge. We took both! The guidebook talked about a Farmers Market in Kenmare as the best. There was no Farmers Market so we did the Ring of Kerry again because the weather was good and Toby thought we should see it in good weather. It is evidently one of THE big tourist attractions in Ireland. It does overlook the Atlantic so you have the rough sea and the serene pasture land. The hedgerows are enormous, easily 10 feet tall and the road is narrow so you can’t see much from the car. There are no trails next to the country roads’ missed opportunity for them, I think. We went through Sneam and Waterville past Killarney National Park to Killarney, a big city in county Kerry. Retracing the Ring brought us to the Bee Hive huts from “ancient” times – impressive. They were called ring forts, enclosed “farmsteads” of the free farmers of the early Christian Period, inhabited from “ancient times to 1200 AD”. No mortar was used, just round stones laid in such a way that water ran off them. All this on the Dingle Peninsula. From there to the Blasket Center, honoring the Gaelic writers who came from there. It was very modern and elaborate and I couldn’t understand the government spending that much money to commemorate a now deserted island from which the people had been removed. But it had a rich tradition of storytelling and folklore and it was Gaelic. In 1953 the government ordered a mandatory evacuation of the island and the Center was built as a tourist attraction. Go figure!
September 21: Today was a beautiful, sunny day and Toby was smart to save Killarney National Park for such a day. We walked the Arboretum Walk and the Boat House Walk, beautifully maintained in a spectacular forest. We went to the Traditional Farm which also was a delight. The 1930s – 1950s farmstead which made the book This Is Happiness very real to me: whitewashed houses, peat for burning, thatched roofs, big fireplaces, and crucifixes all around. A 5-mile day.
September 22: This turned into our most complicated day. We took the Doolin to Inishmore Ferry to the Aran Islands. We had strict instructions from Toby that Pat from Aran Celtic Tours would meet us in his van. He was a no-show! We had to walk to the Information Center to get a map to explore the island. So we asked the people we met about Pat. Everyone said, “Oh, he’ll be along; just wait a bit.” After more than a bit, I spotted the van barreling towards us. Pat stopped and said “I’ll be right back. I have to pick up another couple.” After even more of a bit, Pat came back with three more couples! Time was getting short. I had been told by Cathryn that the fortress, Dun Aeongusa, on the Aran Islands should not be missed. We wanted to walk. Pat wanted to drive. He gave us a “tour” of the island and dropped us off at the trailhead for the fortress. The incline was so steep and slippery that we were glad we had our sticks. We got to the top.
The “fortress” was a pile of stones overlooking the ocean, disappointing. Pat told everyone he would be back in time for everyone’s various ferries. He was not there. People were REALLY angry. He left Peter and me off at a cafe so we had a cup of tea. There was a ferry in the harbor. We leisurely made our way down to it only to be told that our ferry to Doolin had left early. That was the ferry to Rossaveal! Now what? We had two choices: take this ferry, the last of the day, or spend the night on Aran Island! What a choice! We were not about to spend the night on Aran Island. Aran Island for all its uniqueness is an unforgiving place with few resources. Peter and I realized that Pat, barreling all around the island in search of tourists, was in survival mode trying to round up as many customers as he could in the brief time because the weather was good and the tourists were there for the picking. We took the Rossaveal ferry, then a shuttle to Galway, and met Toby there. It all finally worked.
September 23: We checked out of the Old Ground Hotel in Ennis and started out with Toby at 10. We drove and drove and finally got to the Cliffs of Moher, another not-to-be-missed tourist spot. The Parking lot was a zoo. It was a cold rainy day but everyone had come to stand on the edge of the cliffs. We went to the Visitor’s Center, more zoo. I opted out; Peter decided to climb to the Tower and the Cliffs which he did. We left wet and cold. At this point, I think all my defenses were down. We ended up going shopping for chocolate and sweaters. My God, exactly what I said I would not do!
September 24: On to Renvyl House. It was such a dreary day I thought no one would be there. But lo and behold lots of cars in the parking lot, lots of people, children. I think it’s a Mohonk wannabe. Went to Kylemore Abbey, which had been a home to Benedictine nuns since 1920.
September 25: Basically, a ride back to Dublin. I had lunch with Cathryn and Greg [also part of the Zoom yoga group, and visiting Ireland from Mexico]. Toby drove Peter to Glasnevin Cemetery where he again got a good lesson in Irish history. Then on to the Carlton Hotel at the Airport for our return flight on the morning of September 26.
Learnings: The car experience was just too long. We do better in cities where we can go to museums, parks, churches, cafes, and generally hang out.
In retrospect, I certainly learned more about Irish history and the Irish people than I ever knew. We talked with lots of people and appreciated their points of view. Was it worth the $25,000 it cost? I think so. We were well cared for and could just enjoy, rather than figure things out. Did Toby make decisions about where to go and what to do without consulting us? Yes, but he also kept track of the weather and its implications. Did that work for us? I think so.
You can tell by how I raced through the last few days, I felt enough castles, abbeys, and mansions. Seen one, you’ve seen them all. But they are indicative of the huge English influence. The Irish may hate the English and their 800 years of rule but as the docent at Dublin Castle said it is the history; acknowledge it and even honor it; it is what it is.
Peter, Rita’s longtime companion, had more to add to Rita’s take on Ireland.
Three Weeks in Ireland – Observations and Opinions by Peter Sell
1. Grass and leaves in Ireland are so much greener than anywhere else.
2. In front of the entrance to the Trinity College Library, there is a large dark banner on which is written in knee–high, bright–white letters: “The Book of Kells.” These words compel large crowds to wait in amazingly long lines for entry. What can possibly be so attractive? Upstairs, in a huge glass box, it is an ancient book, that pulls these large crowds. It’s a Folio of the Gospel with exceptional beautiful illustrations and calligraphy, created around the year 800. Only select curators will have the pleasure of turning these pages. There is no such luck for the crowds waiting in line outside. I marvel at the promotional aptitude of the Irish, who can get people this enthusiastic for so little.
3. To exit, one goes the length of a long, high hall, crammed with books on shelves on many levels and many sections up to the rafters, plus circular staircases to access them. As I entered this hall, my attention focussed on a small white ball at the end of the hall, above the heads of the people leaving the hall. It seemed to be lit from within. As I got closer, the ball grew larger. I realized, this is an image of the Earth floating in space. But when I stood under it, the ball seemed to show a photo image of Earth as seen from space. But an all encompassing cloud cover over all the continents, gave me doubts. This may not be real. If it is not a photograph of Earth taken from Space, then what is it? Why have a fake there?
4. Since I read Ulysses over 50 years ago, I dreamed of going inside, and to the top, of the Martello Tower. This, I have now done, though only in nick of time and only through the tolerance and patience of the personnel inside. We arrived shortly before closing time. I ran up the steep steps to the top, and was surprised, how small it was. Now I know, where Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead with his shaving utensils, where he halted for Kinch at the second staircase. I still wonder how the old milk woman could have climbed these steep steps with her merchandise, to those residing inside the tower. In what used to be a ‘living’ room stood two guys, costumed like Joyce and Mulligan. They allowed me time to look at Joyce’s fiddle, vest and more. They pointed to an almost life size statue of a black panther, Haynes nightmare. From the top, the view towards the sea and the rocks and the many people all over having a good time in and near the water. I left the Tower as a happy man, very much appreciating the joyful generosity of the personnel giving their time to this latecomer. This readiness to accommodate visitors, I found found also at other times in other places.
5. After a week in Dublin, we met Toby, our guide and driver for a two weeks tour along the Southwestern Atlantic Coast. He too was generous with his time for us. The day before, in a heavy downpour, we could not find the house, where “The Dead’ had gathered for a winter party. Now, despite the dense rush hour traffic this morning, Toby drove us there and identified the Usher house for us. It was a shameful site! A marvelous mansion, left there to decay, not cared for by its owners,. What I saw from the outside, saddened me deeply, a national Irish treasure, fallen victim to greedy money bags.
6. Now we were off to see historic sites in Ireland. We found out, there are two kinds: Irish and English. The older ones, going back to the Vikings, they were Irish: ruins of churches or ruins of cloisters, or weathered stones and crosses in graveyards. Also castles, that now are clearly part of Irish history, like Blarney. In contrast, English had Castles and Palaces of more recent centuries. Those looked impressive from the outside, and overwhelm once one is inside. The wealth and grandeur on display inside is breathtaking. The size of the halls alone is of stunning, and the treasures on display within, boggle minds. No wonder, the Irish wanted to get rid of the English.
7. There exists in Ireland a museum for displaced people [The Blasket Centre]. It is a recent construction and it is very modern. Tourists are urged to go there to explore it. You see, this museum is not really for these people, it is about them. They were removed from a nearby island, to save them from the world wide rising water levels. They speak and write a language, nobody understands [Irish/Gaeilge]. In the gift shop, you can buy their books, though you will not be able to read them. So, why bother?
8. Ireland’s West coast has no sunny beaches. Instead it has tall, steep cliffs. Against those, the Atlantic crashes with forceful waves. They and strong winds make awful noises. On Aran Island, we were told, a must see is the fortress Dun Aengus. At the trail head to the fortress, we were dropped off. The path up, was steep and slippery. It lead to meadow, from where the Ocean was out of sight. I felt challenged to go up to the edge. Doing so, I realized, one cannot see the bottom of a cliff while standing on the top of it. This also explained to me, why the the Cliffs of Moher are lined with a wide, chest-high stonewalls. A tower was also built, to allow glances to the bottom of the cliffs, albeit from a distance. With those walls and other tourist facilities and amenities, the Cliffs of Moher have become a not-to-be-missed tourist attraction. Which showed to me, the Irish know, how to make a buck.
9. Late on our last day in Ireland, I visited the Glasnevin Cemetery. I joined a guided tour, which included an entry to the base of the O`Connell Tower. The tour guide knew his stuff too well, he rattled it off at high speed. Even so, it was an eye opener about the Irish struggle against the yoke of English domination. We stood around gravesites while he spoke. This let me become aware of how fierce and long this struggle has been going on. Never before had I heard the name of Daniel O´Connell. Now I learned what a forceful figure he was in the long Irish struggle for religious freedom and political independence.
O’Connell, who died in Genoa, wished his body to be buried in Ireland, his soul go to heaven, and his heart be sent to Rome. Inside the crypt of the tower, his coffin is visible through openings carved into the marble sarcophagus. Standing next to the remains of such a great man, it occurred to me – his heart may not be in the coffin, but now it is in the hearts of all the Irish. Indeed, this cemetery is the heart of Ireland. ♦
Eidtor’s note: Rita and Peter are physically fit seniors in their 80s who enjoy walking and hiking. Rita was born in New York to German immigrants. Peter immigrated to the U.S. from Germany as a young man.
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