A Brief Apology

To all our readers… your views and kind and thoughtful (and funny) comments really help to keep Kate and me energized for this long trip and for writing these posts. Thank you!

I did not realize until this morning that we had to “approve” each of your comments for them to appear on the blog. I thought WordPress was just trying to sell us more features (a WordPress blog like ours is totally free). So I apologize for not approving comments timely. But they’re all up on the blog now and I’ll approve new ones quickly, so keep your remarks and questions rolling in!

Blackberries at Knowth

The Bru na Boinne archaeological site lies about 50 miles north of Dublin, in the Boyne River Valley and next to Ireland’s largest town, Drogheda. We thought that could not be right but have since learned the Irish make a clear distinction between town and city. Dublin, of course, being the largest city. The Boyne Valley contains several dozen ancient burial mounds and the ruling seat of Irish kings, the Hill of Tara.

While Tara today is little more than a smooth grassy hill, Bru na Boinne comprises three huge “passage graves,” named Newgrange, Knowth, and Dowth. The best known of these is Newgrange, which was rediscovered in the 1960s after millennia of ‘hiding in plain sight’ and explored and restored in 1962-1975. Visitors on guided tours can traverse a narrow path to the central chamber to see various features and experience total darkness. Guides, using a flashlight in the pitch black interior simulate the sight the ancient people at Newgrange saw at sunrise on the Winter Solstice.

Larger but less-known Knowth has two inner chambers and is surrounded by a dozen small passage graves and “kerbstones” decorated with pictographs.

Dowth is the least explored site and is rarely open for public tours.

We were blessed with a gorgeous sunny day for our explorations of Newgrange and Knowth. The sun shining on the quartz-lined walls of Newgrange was spectacular.

The entrance to Newgrange passage grave is the lower dark hole. At the Winter Solstice light from the rising sun shines through the upper hole and illuminates the passage all the way to its central chamber.

Massive “kerbstones” surround much of the Newgrange mound, which occupies an acre.

More Newgrange features and surrounding Boyne Valley countryside.

Below are views of Knowth.

The 1 1/2 acre bulk of Knowth passage grave. This grave has east- and west-facing passages aligned to indicate the arrival of the spring and autumn equinoxes. Knowth’s sides are lined with 52 kerbstones, most of which contain megalithic pictograph art.

All four of us agreed that Knowth is truly magical. We were fortunate to be the only four on the 1:45pm tour of Knowth. Our guide, Jackie, gave us a brief history and answered our questions then turned us loose to explore on our own. Unbelievable!

Jackie is a local and her love, enthusiasm, and appreciation of Knowth fired our imaginations too.

Even magic eventually comes to and end so we boarded the bus to return to the Visitor’s Center. Another local, Callum, greeted us as we boarded the bus with freshly picked blackberries to enjoy on the drive back while he described his childhood playing cowboys and Indians on the mounds of Knowth.

Slán go fóill!

~~~

Are you enjoying these posts? — Go here to see more pictures and read our blog posts from two previous visits to Ireland and Scotland, in 2013 and 2016.

(http://kandmindublin.blogspot.com/)

Northern Comfort

For our 2013 travels around Ireland we rented a very nice but all-too-new smaller Peugot which we promptly nicknamed Pepper (see our 2013 blog post “A New Shoe for Pepper.)
For this trip we rented, with help from Hamill’s of Mullingar, a Mazda big enough for four. What seems appropriate is to rechristen Pepper as Piobar (Irish for pepper) and to name the new ride Sal (Irish for salt.) Piobar agus sal–All for one and one for all!

We drive out of Dublin in reasonable style (although a small navigation error takes us down Dublin’s main thoroughfare, O’Connell Street) and we head north. Once on the M1 motorway we settle in for the trip to the town of Ballymena, Northern Ireland, which sister-in-law, Carrie, has pinpointed as the area where her ancestors lived and worked (in the linen mills) and were buried in the tiny nearby village of Cullybacky’s church cemetery.

The name Ballymena has a quaint and bucolic ring to it. The town is certainly beautiful and the surrounding countryside is bucolic but Ballymena is anything but quaint. Traffic and the many local roundabouts (traffic circles) are nightmarish for newbie drivers already coping with left-side-of-the-road driving. We circle the block three times at one point to get headed in the right direction. Traffic seems to be coming from all directions at once and the traffic lights are utterly baffling. At one point we are behind a red stop light in conjunction with a green arrow telling us to go straight ahead. What to do? Stop? Go? We choose Go and make it through the intersection unscathed.

We feel victorious–a little too soon–as we shoot by the entrance to the inn where we are supposed to stay. We have to turn around and make a dreaded right turn across busy traffic into the inn’s narrow driveway. With three of us watching traffic and Mike at the helm we finally get a window to make the turn.

Driving up the tree-lined lane our shoulders relax. We get our first view of the Oranmore–a beautiful manor that was once the hunting lodge of a wealthy Northern Irish family.

The Oranmore’s proprietress kindly welcomes these shell-shocked travelers and sits us down in front of a warm fire with glasses of wine. Heaven at last!

The innkeeper, Gerald, his wife Fiona, and their family have lovingly restored the main house and converted the stables into guest rooms, one of which Mike and I rent for the next three days. Scrumptious breakfasts, delicious dinners, lovely surroundings. What a find!

The Oranmore becomes our home base as we explore Carrie’s family roots, the Bushmill’s Distillery, and the Giant’s Causeway up on the Antrim Coast, the edge of the North Sea. More on those adventures to follow.

Dublin on Foot

With close to 10,000 steps for the day already counted our feet were tired and we needed a place to sit and rest. Checking our map we saw that Merrion Square (a lovely park in central Dublin) was a couple of blocks away.

Ah, relief in sight! Turning into the gates of the park we spotted on unoccupied bench. Unbelievable! Dubliners use their parks and benches are almost always fully loaded. Dead tired, we quickened our pace to try to beat any quick, fleet-footed natives from grabbing the bench.

With a last spurt of energy we made it! No rivals! Then we saw why it was empty – a couple of the wooden seat slats were missing.

So, we found a wall to sit on and watched a flock of magpies raid the trash bin and carry their culinary treasures to the bench. Bon appétit!

Slán go fóill!

~~~

Are you enjoying these posts? — Go here to see more pictures and read our blog posts from two previous visits to Ireland and Scotland, in 2013 and 2016.

(http://kandmindublin.blogspot.com/)

Twenty Feet Under

Forget “Six feet under the clay.” These people must be stacked a lot deeper than that. Glasnevin is Dublin’s “premier” cemetery and it’s said that well over a million and a half folks are buried here.

It’s an impressive place, not so much for size (although it occupies 124 acres of prime Dublin real estate.) No, it’s the thousands and thousands of granite and marble headstones that impress. Those are in all states of repair from brand new (a lot of folks are still buried here every week) to weathering away to unreadable, to those fallen face first in the grass. And while there are some nice pathways for reaching the main areas, in many places the burial plots are head to toe and side by side. There you are *always* stepping on someone’s grave.

Glasnevin is also the place where the Irish have buried many of their revolutionary heroes. Probably chief among that celebrated company is Jeremiah O’Donovan Rossa. Rossa belonged to the Fenian movement. Captured, tried, and sentenced by the British in 1859 for his activities, O’Donovan Rossa spent 11 years in prison before accepting exile in America where he continued to support the fight for Irish freedom. Rossa died in 1915 and his body was returned from New York to Ireland to a huge burial ceremony at Glasnevin. It was there that 100,000 people listened to Pasdaigh Pearse’s funeral oration which included these stirring words,
“They think that they have pacified Ireland. They think that they have purchased half of us and intimidated the other half. They think that they have foreseen everything, think that they have provided against everything; but, the fools, the fools, the fools! — They have left us our Fenian dead, and while Ireland holds these graves, Ireland unfree shall never be at peace!”

Searching high and low we found only a very few gravestones inscribed in Irish. The largest number are, not surprisingly, in the “Republican plot” close to Rossa’s grave. Most of those killed by the Brits were buried in quicklime–that is, their bodies were dissolved–to prevent more funerals like O’Donovan Rossa’s. They are “buried” at Arbour Hill Cemetery. But a few others, like Elizabeth O’Farrell and Joseph Clark are at Glasnevin.

Toot-toot to Malahide

Northward bound. We caught the northbound DART from Sandy Mount Station for the half hour trip to Malahide Castle. It was our first excursion to the area north of Dublin.

Arriving in Malahide, a beautiful and quaint town, we expected to see a magnificent castle perched on a hilltop. We debarked from the train. Where is the castle? Scanning the horizon all we could see were tree-lined streets and colorful flowers spilling down lightposts and out of window boxes on the homes and businesses.

Puzzled, we finally spotted a sign and arrow pointing to our left – Malahide Castle. We set off with the expectation of seeing the castle around the corner. No such luck. Mike then spotted a Tourist Information sign with an arrow pointing to an impressive building. As we walked to the door we realized it was a church. What? Is the Church now luring tourists in? After asking several people for directions – all had no more clue than we did – we headed back to the train station to find help. In the station parking lot we encountered the toot-toot train – a miniature red circus train for kids. The conductor invited us to find a seat as he was heading on his rounds and Malahide Castle was one of his stops. We managed to squeeze into the incredibly tiny compartment for the journey (I am sparing you the humiliating effort to get off the toot-toot). Suffice it to say my knee is sporting a nice bruise.

Our visit coincided with a clear, gorgeously sunny day so we opted for strolling the extensive gardens planted by Lord Milo Talbot the last member of the Talbot family’s 800 year occupation of the castle rather than a tour of the castle itself. Lord Milo died in 1973 and the estate passed to the Irish government and is now open for the enjoyment of all (who can actually find it.)

The gardens were indeed lovely. We felt totally at home as many of the rare and tropical specimens Lord Milo had collected were plants and trees we are completely familiar with – palms, aloes, and eucalyptus.

Slainte. Slan go foill.

Wrongway Coach to a Midsomer Town

And that title is as misleading as the plot of any Midsomer Murders mystery. Inspector Barnabess and her loyal but often befuddled DS “Mac” were on the right coach (at least on the way to the murder) and they weren’t anywhere close to Midsomer.

We actually took the train to the picturesque seaside town of Dun Laoghaire (pronounced dun Leary – Irish pronunciation is a mystery all in itself.)

We stopped into the Irish Design Gallery to look at Irishmade goods – woven scarves, shawls, jewelry, watercolors, soap and candles. We wandered down the boardwalk and had an informative chat with the woman running the RNLI shop — Royal National Lifeguard Institute. The courageous women and men of the RNLI are volunteers who put to sea in all weather and conditions to rescue those in need.

Now we come to the Midsomer Murders moment that poor, put-upon Joyce Barnaby longs for – a comfortable sit at the seaside in the brisk ocean breeze munching on delicious fish & chips.

As to the murder, the only victim was a haddock filet and a basket of fries—delicious and worth the trip. With the breeze picking up, our intrepid team decided to return to home base. We hopped the next south-bound train. Odd, this one has *tables* all the way down each coach. Too late, we realized this was a nonstop straight to city centre. Kate’s helpful seatmate, more on the ball than Mac, suggested she push the emergency button at Sandymount, our home station, but rather than spend the night in a Garda station we opted to carry on to the end. A short return trip from Pearse Street Station (Stasiun na Bpearsa) saw us back to home dock and dinner.

A lovely afternoon by the sea complete. Slainte. Slan go foill.

St. Enda’s School & Padraig Pearse

Today we zubered (or should that be ubered?) south 10 miles and 100 years to visit St. Enda’s School. With fifteen beautiful acres this lovely spot was once the home of a radical experiment in education led by one of the later central leaders of the Easter Rising of 1916. Today the property is owned and supported by the Irish government. Entrance is free (the folks at the entry don’t even have a way to accept donations from visitors.)

The current exhibit is titled “Who was Padraig Pearse?” It was opened by Ireland’s Uchterain (President) Michael D. Higgins at the 2016 celebration of the Easter Rising.

As we worked our way through the excellent exhibit materials and walked the sunny grounds, the laughter of children—at times  haunting—rang out from the surrounding woodlands. An enthusiastic bunch of primary grade students were there for a long day visit.

Here are a few photos of the school and grounds.

 

Old Friends

Dublin, the capital city of Ireland is definitely old. Known to Irish-speaking citizens as Baile Atha Cliath (“the town of the ford of the reed hurdles”, or the shallow spot on the River Liffy) was probably established by Vikings some 1200 years ago. That early settlement was also called Duibhlinn, meaning “Black Pool,” but rumors that the name came from a leak at the nearby Guinness plant are definitely false.

The city is definitely an old friend, though, and we spent today revisiting a few favorite places. Today was sunny and warm so, with our good-for-a week Leap passes in hand we hopped on the Dart (Irish Rail) train at Sandymount Station and headed for town. First stop: Grafton Street and its Vodaphone store to get our phones fixed. Then across the street and through the Fusalier’s Arch into beautiful St. Stephen’s Green. This four square block park provides a relaxing spot in the center of Dublin for workers, students, and visitors alike.

Amid hundreds of insistently hungry seagulls Kate spotted a stork and took its photo. Then we just found a bench near the central fountain and people-watched. City workers taking lunch, couples holding hands, gangs of a dozen or more chattering students, and lots of folks hurrying through on their way to who knows where.

Eventually we found our way over to Harcourt Street and the Conrad na Gaielge (Gaelic League) Shiopa Leabhar, or bookstore. There we found some great Irish/English books including Antoine de Saint-Exupery’s An Prionsa Beag (The Little Prince) and Re O Laighleis’ brand new Trumptai Dumptai agus an Falla Mor (Trumpty Dumpty and the Big Wall.)

Our final pilgrimage of the day was to Bewleys on Grafton Street to admire the beautifully restored stained glass windows and to grab some late lunch. Restored, we once again brandished our Leap cards to hop aboard the Luas (trolley) Green Line and then ride the Dart back south to Sandymount and home.

= Slan go foill =

1 Down and 29 to Go

Writing this short note from our Dublin “home,” the Clayton Inn, Ballsbridge. The Clayton is a beautiful old brick six-story hotel whose former occupation was home to the British Embassy in a (formerly) hostile country. It’s located close to the Irish Rail stop at Sandymount, just 15 minutes from downtown Dublin.

Our SAN–JFK (New York) flight was good except for a 30-minute Trump delay. His presence at the nearby UN apparently caused disruptions for many flights. The JFK–DUB flight, however, was delayed 90 minutes while the flight crew deplaned a very sick passenger and then had to locate and remove her checked luggage.

Tomorrow we’ll deal with our phones which have both stopped working (no texting or WhatsApp at present). Probably Vodaphone has updated their SIM again and we just need new ones.

Best news today, Mike had an opportunity to practice his Irish on the cab driver with exchanges of “Dia duit, conas ata tu?” (Hello, how are you?”) and “Ta me go maith, go raibh maith agat,” (I’m good, thank you!)

One more story: the cabbie, an older born-and-raised Dubliner, told us that when he was a kid his family like many others proudly kept a small piece of Lord Nelson’s pillar on their hearth mantle. The IRA in 1966 blew up this symbol of British imperialism that stood in the heart of Dublin for many years. Kate and I saw more of the pillar’s remains in the gardens of Kilkenny Castle where they form a comfortable circle of butt-rests for garden visitors.

Slan go foill! (Goodbye for now!)