Vana's Voyages

Once again, I am off to the land of “Danny Boy!”   Just knowing that I am destined for Ireland assures a great time. The warm welcoming people, the bright green landscape, the brilliant blue sea, the beer…oh, and did I mention the beer?

Dublin is as wonderful as always. Can you ever see the Book of Kells too many times? Since the College turns its pages every so often, you can be assured to see a different part every time. The display is fascinating and the gift shop is pretty darn OK too.

I am finally getting to see inside St. Patrick’s. As (bad) luck would have it, the last time I was here I did not get there, opting instead for Christchurch Cathedral as I wanted to see the mummified cat chasing the mummified mouse. OK, I have my priorities but this time, it is St. Patrick’s. I am not disappointed, especially since the boys’ choir was rehearsing. That made for a magical moment.

But I am not long for Dublin. The tour is then off to Killarney for a couple of nights. On the way, we stop at Cashel. Now for someone like me, this is a perfect place: medieval ruins with the incredible 12^th century Comac Chapel.  We also stop at a couple places for bathroom breaks and coffee, which just happen to be next to very tempting shops. I swear I will not buy anything; I will not buy anything; I will not buy anything. I get a fabulous wool shawl with Celtic designs. Perfect for my new Maine winters.

Later this afternoon, I find myself at the famous Blarney Castle, home to the kissable Blarney Stone. Of course, I do it…which is not all that easy for someone with my fear of heights. Someone has forgotten to mention I need to hang myself out over a 4-story drop, backwards, to get to the stone. Nice job of bumping my nose on the darn thing. So I end up with a Blarney Bruise as a souvenir.  

The Poison Garden on the grounds is a pleasant surprise. As you stroll through the pathways, you can contemplate all the ways our medieval ancestors could off their spouses and political opponents, and rue the fact that such behavior is no longer de rigueur in a world with advanced forensic technology and DNA testing.

Back on the bus and off to Killarney, a charming town in the southwest of Ireland and a jumping off point for much of the area.   We get to top off the day with a traditional “jaunty ride,” that is, a horse drawn carriage, around the town and out into the very gorgeous adjacent park. As a decades-long fanatical horseperson, I should know better than to engage in this kind of activity. And sure ‘nuff, the driver not only drives the horse nuts, he drives me nuts too. I contain myself and do not attempt to snatch the whip and use it on him. I stew my way through it all, and quietly thank the horse at the end, and commend him on putting up with the idiot so well. 

The day finally arrives when we do the scenic drive around the world-renowned Ring of Kerry. Yes, it is lovely. You pass through several small villages and towns and down around the water and then up onto the hills overlooking the ocean. The landscape is punctuated with various ruins and the eternal Irish sheep. Eventually you go full circle back to Killarney. Here I finally get to seriously stretch the legs with a walk through the Park to a local waterfall. We circle back and stroll on to Muckross House, the site of a wonderfully well-preserved Victorian country mansion with gardens to match. Lucky for me, the garden is in full bloom and the rhododendrons are enormous blossoming “hills” of pink and red.

It is pub night and I am off to a local establishment that does not cater to tourists…or at least not that many. Here I am treated to the perennial “Danny Boy” performed by the local unsung musician Brendan Moriarty, the real McCoy in that neck of the woods. I also am entertained by his rendition of Paddy McGinty’s Goat , a number that has not enjoyed the fame and success that is its due. (The curious can surely find versions of the song on youtube.)

Next day, I start my journey up the Western coast of Ireland. I take a ferry across the Shannon, and then drive on to the Cliffs of Moher.   What a pleasant place for a break! It offers a couple dining venues, a visitors center, and, yes, shops. Yup, shops. But I hold fast and buy nothing. No, nothing. Really.

The Cliffs are a wonder as they plunge dramatically down into the ocean, a kind of Irish Big Sur.   It is home to many sea birds and the site is set up for both long hikes or short strolls depending on your time and fancy. If the weather is clear, then you can see for miles along the coast.

From here I head inland to the Rathbaun Farm. I confess I am hesitant to visit a place that appears on so many tourist itineraries. But I am pleasantly surprised. It is organized very well. Visiting groups are tightly scheduled and kept apart, out of sight and out of mind from one another. The result is you always feel it is still a small, family run business. And of course, I have always liked sheep. They always look so, well, absorbent, so I am happy to hang out in the barn and play with the lambs and run with the dogs. I am right at home.

Next stop, Kylemore Abbey. I have always admired the photos of this lovely 19th century, faux gothic mansion, with that sweep of lake in front of it. Well, ah, it looks just like the pictures -- no clique intended. But now I have one with me in the foreground.   The interior of the house really isn’t all that fabulous but the grounds are great. Just a short shuttle ride away is the property’s hidden walled garden. Very nice and not to be overlooked. Even the gardener’s cottage is open to the public for a glimpse of life on the big estates for those who are not privileged enough to live in the main houses.

The next day will live in the annals of history. This is the day of the Royal Wedding! I have a very hard time pulling myself away from the telly to go out and sightsee. But I do. I go to Galway to visit the pedestrian zone. This works well, as every shop and business has a TV and I can just go from one to the other. I see The Dress, the long awaited Dress, from a hair salon. Works for me. The shops aren’t that great anyway. Too much the same. No dazzling art galleries or unique boutiques although I do like the bronze statue of Oscar Wilde and the line of flags representing the local Celtic tribes.

Finally, The Treat, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow: Ashford Castle! And just in time for lunch to boot. I get to dine in a dungeon. How cool is that? Fish and chips in the dungeon. And my room overlooks the lake AND one of the original Norman turrets. Oh, I am happy! 

But wait, there’s more. I decide to go for broke and sign up for an afternoon in the woods with Skellig and Cara. These are my new-found hawk friends from the falconry school on the estate. Of course I have to take Aurelie with me as she is their handler, but she is so wonderful and helpful that I like her just as much as the birds. We romp around the woods, launching the hawks and calling them back. No, we aren’t catching anything, but we really don’t care. Aside from our modern clothes and the fact that we are women, we are back in the Middle Ages, out on a typically Irish day indulging in typically aristocratic activities.

So here I am: dungeons and turrets and hawks, oh my!  

What more can one ask? How about the cuisine for which Ashford is also well-known?   Dinner is a memorable event. Not only is it an incredible meal but it is also the proverbial icing on the cake for this truly fabulous day.

Before being forced to leave this idyllic haven, I make a dash (well, not really a ”dash” but more like a purposeful early morning walk) over to Cong, the nearby village. This is the setting for the old John Wayne movie “The Quiet Man.” I admit that I have never seen this flick, not being a fan of John Wayne, nor of old movies. ( I never understand why the language is so stilted. Why is “girl” pronounced “geehl?” Makes no sense.) But the town is charming and has its fair share of medieval ruins, ponds and ducks. It is my Good Bye Point for taking my leave of Ireland.

In the afternoon, I head back to Dublin and the airport. Sigh.   Another day at Ashford Castle would be perfect. Maybe next time.