Do the Irish like potatoes? Beer? Are you sane?

Random thoughts that didn't make it into previous postings:

Food

A co-worker asked me about food after we returned, and as I recall, I didn't have much to say. We didn't eat anything exotic while there, but that doesn't mean the opportunity didn't present itself.

Each day started with what was called an "Irish breakfast." For us, this was a buffet, and the specific items offered differed according to the hotel we were in. But we always had scrambled eggs and sometimes had what looked to me to be poached eggs, but one server called them fried.

A large pan of scrambled eggs would be cooked to varying degrees. If you liked yours runny, they would be at the bottom or to the side. The most-cooked eggs would sometimes be overcooked and dried out. Some days it was hard to find a happy medium.

A variety of meats were also served, sausage, bacon and carved slices of cold meats, for a sandwich, I suppose, or just to eat if you like that sort of thing. The sausage was OK, but kind of bland, and the bacon was more like slices of ham than the strips of smoked goodness we eat over here.

Vegetables were also available -- stuff like navy beans, tomatoes, mushrooms and some unidentifiable, to me, greens. Of course potatoes were served, pretty much in the form we'd identify as hash browns. Along with the potatoes, and looking very much like some form of potato, they would serve white pudding. Black, or blood, pudding was also available. Now, I don't know what you think of when you think of pudding, but if you have images of Bill Cosby hawking Jello pudding with a bunch of cute kids, push that out of your mind.

These puddings are supposed to be a type of sausage. Look up the ingredients on the Internet, and they sound relatively benign, but to my messed up taste buds, white pudding was just awful. I'd grabbed some by mistake, thinking I was getting potatoes. And black pudding is called that because it's black -- quite unappealing to me, though some in our group tried it and declared it to be "not bad." Not exactly a ringing endorsement.

My salad one night. I took a picture because that's a quail
or duck or something other than a chicken egg. Tasted the
same, though.

Cold cereals were available, along with a selection of juices. But the best part was the breads. Two, three, four styles of bread would be served along with that wonderful creation called a scone. I know people over hear who don't like scones -- which is the word they use for biscuit because they call cookies biscuits -- because they're dry and not very tasty. These scones, some with fruit, some without, were more like the best country biscuits you ever had. Team them up with butter -- they also served margarine, but hey, if you're blowing your calories, might as well go for the real thing.

All the breads appeared to be handmade, most some form of whole grain or multigrain, and I don't remember a plain, white bread ever being served, unless you count the dinner rolls, but plain doesn't really describe the taste of those rolls. I could have made a meal just from the breads we were served every day.

Lunches varied in content wildly. At one museum cafe we had "vegetable" soup, which was nothing like our conception of veggie soup. I think that the primary vegetable was parsnips, and I've no idea what else was in it, but it came out as a thin puree that we found quite tasty. And, of course, the bread served with it was wonderful. We missed a couple of lunches by being too busy sightseeing and taking pictures, but we had fish and chips a couple of times, and a couple of meals so ordinary they don't register with me this long after the trip.

Convenience stores dot the landscape and occupy buildings in town with the standard snacks and a bunch of cake and cookie concoctions we'd never heard of. Most stores carried Coca-Cola and Diet Coke, and surprisingly to me, many of them carried Dr Pepper, but not in diet or 10 calorie. My favorite drink was a carbonated orange drink you could buy with or without pulp.

Dinners, or suppers, or whatever you call them, were almost always at the hotel. I wasn't used to hotels having their own restaurants, but I suspect these are the classier hotels -- certainly the ones in Dublin and Belfast were -- and Holiday Inn is a splurge for me.

The meals were all multicourse, and we had a limited menu to choose from as part of our package. Fish seemed to always be on the menu, and beef, pork and chicken were served as well. I think one night the menu featured duck. Usually we were served a large portion of meat and small portions of steamed vegetables, parsnips and two kinds of potatoes -- some combination of mashed, roasted or boiled -- and bread, of course. I didn't have a clunker the entire time, but I think Sharon was less than enthused about one of her meals, though I don't remember which one. We'd also be offered a desert, and there was always an option that wasn't so sweet I couldn't eat it.

One last thing about food. I like tea, so I was in nirvana because Irish tea has a robust flavor sadly lacking in the black teas we buy here (mostly because I'm too cheap to buy the higher end teas offered in the stores.) But at one meal I asked the waiter for tea, and this flummoxed him. He told me that tea and coffee would be served after the meal. So I asked if I couldn't have some with the meal. He assented, but I still came away thinking I'd done something socially unacceptable.

Beer

Want to know how much alcohol features in Irish culture? Well, just walk down a block in a business district. If you don't find at least two pubs, you're in the wrong part of town. And Arthur Guinness has his own day in Ireland. It's called Arthur Day, and towns all over have festivals on that day. Really.

While driving around Dublin on our first day, I noticed a gleaming tanker truck. You know, the kind you see occasionally running around here that usually has a big milk logo or sign on it. Then I noticed that this tanker was marked with a Guinness label. I tried to get a picture, but traffic and angles and all that nonsense interfered. Still, I had to wonder what the tanker hauled. Beer? Do they offload beer at taverns into big storage tanks like gasoline? Was it on its way to a bottling plant? Maybe just carrying water to be used in the brewing process?

Guinness must be poured in a special way. At least that's what an article in the onboard magazine on our American flight said. You pour it, let it settle, and pour again in some manner that creates a froth about an inch to an inch and a half deep on top.

Yes, I tried a pint. We had a welcoming gathering and a farewell gathering in which the drinks were "on us," meaning the tour company. Of course you know it's included in the price of your tour. But since it wouldn't cost me extra, I had one. Honestly, my favorite part was the froth. It tasted really good. To me, anyway. The beer's pretty good as well. Were I a drinking man, I could get used to it quickly, though the drinkers in our group, which was most of the group, said the American version's not quite as good. Maybe because it wasn't poured correctly.

Our guide pointed out one of the pubs, Farrington's I think, because it dates back to the early 1800s and features partitions to create private spaces. If I heard him correctly, the place was a favorite among clergy who didn't always want to be seen drinking in public.

Signs

Most places you visit will have cleverly named shops or some other sign that catches your eye -- like the one from Adventure Island tours that said they'd been doing so well, they'd moved to new digs. Here are a few that caught my eye:

Shop signs -- "Knobs and Knockers," door fittings, in Dublin; Baldies Barbers (do baldies need barbers, or was that the name of the owner, or just a bit of humor?) in Derry; Upper Cuts, barber shop in Donegal (They give your hair a fighting chance?)

Best name for a hotel -- Snoozles

Religious sign -- Ringed around a clock at the Larn Mission House in Belfast: It's time to seek the Lord. (Hokey, I know, but it made me feel like a Salvation Army Band could walk out and break into music at any moment.)

Transportation

Bikes for rent. 

In the large cities, public transportation was readily available. Buses and trains ran all over the place. Dublin had electric trains, and I came close to being run over by one of them, despite numerous signs warning pedestrians to be on the lookout. My problem was that it was our first day in the country, and I wasn't used to looking the correct direction yet. Or maybe I was jet-lagged. Or maybe I'm like the stupid people who ignore the signs at the Cliffs of Moher. But I nearly stepped into the path of an oncoming train. Sharon saved me. Again.

Dublin had bicycles for rent all over town. The whole set up looks like the program they recently started in Fort Worth. Sean, our guide, claimed that a Dubliner came up with the concept first.

Small cars dominate, which you would expect when gasoline costs upward of $7 a gallon, but Sean told us that the yearly registration and taxes are based on the displacement of your engine. Want to drive a big car with a big engine? Fine, but you're gonna pay for it.

To tour or not to tour

Do enough researching on the Internet, and you'll find two dominant opinions about how to visit Ireland. One is to go over there, rent a car, and go exploring. You're limited on a tour, which is true in many ways. Were I better driver (I may not be 5 of the top 10 worst drivers you'll ever meet, but my percentile ranking among all drivers probably isn't good) I would gladly take this advice.

Our group

The other opinion is to take a tour. Ours was much like going on a cruise. Our luggage was handled for us; the rooms and restaurants were above average; and the itinerary took us to many popular spots that fulfill the tourist idea of Ireland. Although you're not always seeing "real" Ireland, you have opportunities to go walk about and experience some of the authentic culture. And the pub crawlers in our group found lots of chances to visit with the locals. 

I was at times frustrated because even though I didn't have to do everything on the tour, precious little of what was offered failed to interest to me. I wanted to do it all, even if it meant that I couldn't indulge some whim. That's why we missed a couple of lunches, but we learned to take a scone and a piece of fruit with us and could always find a convenience store or small grocery where we could pick up a snack to tide us through. If you hate cruises, don't take a tour. But if you want a worry-free jaunt through some of the most beautiful scenery you've seen, a tour may be just right. And you'll meet some nice people.

On the bus ride from the airport to our parking lot at DFW, the driver asked if Ireland was as pretty as it looked in the movies. We both immediately replied with something like, "Yes, and even better."

More wonders remain to be explored in the years ahead. But it'll be tough to knock this one off our top 10 list. (Of course, I already have about five ties for first place.)

The Last Day

(Note: When you dawdle, you may put yourself in a bind. Which I have done. Our desktop computer, which contains all my Ireland photos, and which I kept telling myself needed to be backed up, is on the fritz. I'm hoping it will be fixed with all the contents intact. Fortune has it that Sharon's pics are all available on her laptop, so all the included photos in this post will be hers. At the end of my next -- and last Ireland -- post, I will include a link to our Flickr sites so you can see all the photos you can stand.)

I'd like to say the final day of our sojourn broke with bright sunlight and the promise of perfect traveling weather. But most of the day will be cloudy, foggy, rainy -- what you would probably think of as Irish weather. 

The sun does break out during lunch, but honestly, the weather's been so good during our trip that almost everywhere we've gone, some local person has remarked about how nice it's been. I'm sure they say that to all the tourists, but we're happy to take credit. We certainly can't complain about this day's weather.

Poulnabrone, in the Burren

The first part of our trip will be through the Connemara region, Note that I said region and not county. Most, or all, of Connemara lies in County Galway. The two items our guide, Sean, mention in connection with this area are marble and the 1950s movie The Quiet Man, which starred John Wayne and Maureen O'Hara, portions of which were filmed in County Galway and Connemara. 

Our first stop of the day will be at the Connemara Marble visitor center in the town of Moycullen. Our bus will park across the street from the center, and because enough traffic passes through town on this highway, we will be watched over by crossing guards, a first for the trip. In most of the places we've been, drivers have been most considerate of pedestrians, stopping for tourists and locals alike, who simply wander across the street when ready. Even in the bigger cities of Dublin and Belfast, which have marked crossings and automated crossing signs, we saw groups of people walk across the road without bothering to push the button for a "Walk" signal. 

A man at the center gives us a talk about Connemara marble, which comes in a number of colors. (Should my hard drive be recovered, I'll post the video here.) The coolest slabs are black spotted with white markings. If you look closely at the white spots, you notice that most of them are fossils. Marble quarried in the are was used in the cathedral at nearby Galway. We make a short stop at the cathedral after our center visit to see the magnificent marble floors. Unfortunately, church services are about to be held, so we're only able to spend  a short amount of time at the church. 

The guy giving the talk also mentions that Connemara marble was used in the state Capitol building in Pennsylvania.

Although our sheet of daily activities indicates we'll have time to wander about Galway on our own, we're not given the opportunity. Go figure.

From Moycullen we drive to an area known as the Burren. Limestone dominates the landscape, and the interesting feature here is that the exposed limestone contains huge cracks, giving the impressions of large, flat stones scattered about the countryside. One of the well-known sites in the Burren is Poulnabrone, a portal dolmen, or type of gravesite, dating to the Neolithic era. 

Large slabs of rock rise perpendicular to the earth and are capped by another large stone. Archaeological digs at the site unearthed the remains of about 30 adults and children who had been buried under the portal along with personal items.

The site contains a number of interpretive signs that explain the geology of the Burren and the discoveries that have been made there, but once again our guide is keen to keep us on schedule, so we really don't have time to do much reading or exploring. Though not as impressive as I imagine Stonehenge to be, I'm still impressed that the Neolithic inhabitants of the area managed to build this structure. Of course, being a fan of the show Ancient Aliens, I immediately jump to the idea that ET must have had some role here. 

Pier at Ballyvaughn.

We'll stop in the coastal town of Ballyvaughn for lunch. The sun's appearance means that as  soon as we've consumed our meal, we head outside to take pictures. A concrete pier extends from the shore, and a group swims down near its end. I'm guessing that had to be cold. 

The piece de resistance of the day is a stop at the Cliffs of Moher. The magnificent cliffs rise  some 700 feet above the sea and stretch across 5 miles of the Atlantic coast. A number of trails lead to various viewing spots, and you can see a trio of islands called the Aran Islands off in the distance. Fog has set in, and we'll be rained on a bit, but the weather enhances the experience. I'd have to admit that the whole thing would be spectacular on a bright, sunny day as well. 

We take one of the trails that leads near the cliffs' edge. Walls have been built to keep people from venturing too close to the edge, but numerous tourists ignore the wall, which is a bit less than waist high, and clamber over it to have their picture taken as near the edge as they dare go. As you might expect when people are being stupid like that, some folks in the past have misjudged and fallen to their death. 

Cliffs of Moher

As a side note, the cliffs are movie stars. They show up in a Harry Potter movie, The Half-blood Prince, among others, but that's the one most people are likely to have actually heard of.

From there we travel to our final destination, the town of Shannon. We'll stay in a hotel across the road from Bunratty Castle. The castle was built in the 15th century and now functions as a living heritage museum. We won't be wandering the grounds, but we do walk down to have a look. Like most living history places, the castle grounds contain buildings of the period and demonstrations are staged at various times. 

One of the main attractions at the castle takes place in the evenings -- a medieval "feast" complete with entertainment. (Again, I'll post video if it's recovered.) We're welcomed to the castle by staff in period garb and ushered into a large room where we are served mead and listen to a singer. The mead is potent and served in very small cups. I try it -- you catch the flavor of honey at the beginning of a sip, but this stuff is way stronger than beer, so I only drink about half. Sharon doesn't like the taste at all and has no more than the sip I urged her to take to see if she can taste  the honey -- she can't.

Sign on the wall meant to keep you away from the
edge so you don't do what the figure in the sign does.

Some of our crew seem to think it's pretty good and consume two or three drinks. Red and white wine will be served with the meal, so by the end of the evening, some members of the group will be feeling no pain. 

After 20 or 30 minutes, we're lead into a larger hall where dinner will be served. The meal is good. Home-baked bread, parsnip soup, spare ribs, chicken. But the only utensil we're supplied with is a knife. You eat with your hands and drink your soup from the bowl. The bread was wonderful -- I could have eaten that all night. Water is provided for those who don't want or need any more alcohol. 

The servers are also our entertainment. Between serving courses, brief explanations are given about the dining habits and foods of the time, and after the main course is served, they sing a variety of songs, including, of course, "Londonderry Air," better known as "Danny Boy."

Also during the festivities, the staff pick on one of the audience members, trumping up some charge against him and tossing him into a small cell at the side of the room. This night they pick a very short Scotsman who's apparently there with a group of fellow retired RAF officers. He'd come over during the serving of mead and visited with us, which is how I knew he was retired RAF. To be set free from his confinement, he's call upon to sing, which he does with gusto and a fine tenor voice, and is joined by the members of his group on the chorus of the song.

The evening proves to be a grand topper to our time in Ireland. We walk back to our hotel, which involves crossing a highway without the benefit of a light or a crossing guard, but it's after 11, so there's not a lot of worry involved.

In the morning we'll board a bus for the airport and head for home. Our time was brief but full of the kind of moments that make for great memories. We wish we could have stayed longer but are grateful for the time spent. 

I'll have one more blog with some random thoughts and a couple of more pictures, If you've muddled through these ramblings, thanks for taking the time to join our journey, if only vicariously.

The Pirate Queen

Westport in County Mayo bills itself as one of Ireland's premiere tourist destinations, but you wouldn't think that while listening to our guide describe it.

He tells us that the town only has four streets, and he's not far off. Four main streets make up the area of town where most of the businesses lie -- two longer streets that stretch up from the river that runs through town and the two streets that connect them. When we arrive, we drive around that circuit. Of course, the town has more streets where the residence are, but it's not a large town.

After we check into our hotel, we decide to go for a walk back into the town. I notice a sign for a river walk, and we take it to town. The river walk is nothing like San Antonio's or even Belfast's. An improved path borders a small river -- more like what we would call a creek, only 12-15 feet wide.

One of our merry band dresses up for our visit
to the house of a descendant of the Pirate
Queen and picks sides for the upcoming
hurling match against County Clare.

The part that leads from our hotel to the main section of town is has broad, green lawns, and a young couple sit underneath a tree, watching the ducks and chatting. The walk takes us to one of the cross streets. One side of the river in this part of town contains a line of shops about two blocks long that a map I look at later labels as a "mall."

Some of the bridges have steps that lead down into the water. Not real sure what the purpose is. We walk around the main streets, noting the shops. Westport is in County Mayo, whose hurling team will be vying against neighboring County Clare in a big game the Saturday after our visit. Many of the shops are selling Irish flags and County Mayo flags in anticipation of the big game.

I checked after our return, and County Clare won. As for hurling, well, that's a wild sport. Think soccer crossed with field hockey and lacrosse. Or something like that. Check out this video on YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TmzivRetelE

The central square in town features a statue of St. Patrick, but unlike many of the statues of the saint you see, this one does not show a man wearing robes and a miter hat carrying a shepherd's crook. Instead Patrick is represented as the 5th century man he really was.

Westport lies a few miles from Croagh Patrick, considered one of the most sacred sites in Ireland. Croagh Patrick is the third highest mountain in Ireland and used to be a site associated with pagan worship. Legend has it that Patrick once climbed to the summit and fasted there for 40 days and nights. Worshipers make an annual pilgrimage to the mountain.

Westport is the site of Westport House, a mansion built by the great great granddaughter of Grace O'Malley, the Pirate Queen. Or at least her husband. The family still owns the mansion and operates it, along with a pirate-themed park. The house also functions as a sort of museum dedicated to O'Malley.

Grace has a fascinating story. As a young child she showed an interest in the sea, and her father was a seafarer. The guide at the house told us that Grace stowed away on her father's ship, but when discovered she showed such aptitude that he continued to take her with him. She dressed like a man, and often cut her hair severely short, earning the nickname "Bald Grace."

Grace O'Malley (Grainne Ni Maille in Irish)

Grace also demonstrated leadership abilities, and in time took over command of the fleet. Conflicts with the English led her into a life of piracy. She was known as a fierce fighter and won and lost more than one fortune. She also had multiple husbands and a couple of lovers, though the marriages were more for personal gain than romance.

My favorite story about her: She was pregnant but still sailing. While at sea she delivered a child and was resting in her cabin when the ship was boarded by Turkish pirates. Her crew was outnumbered and losing. A crew member came to her cabin to report the situation. She took the news badly, got out of bed, grabbed a blunderbuss and went on deck. Yelling at her crew for their lack of resolve, she discharged the gun into a group of Turks. The crew then rallied and drove the invaders back.

Tough woman, eh?

The house is built on the site of a former O'Malley castle, the dungeon being the only part that survived the original building site. You can go down there and have a look around. They have it hoked up a bit with statues of pirates and prisoners, but it's still an interesting visit. The stone floor is uneven and the atmosphere dank. Without lights, it would be like being in a cave, completely dark. Altogether a disagreeable place to find yourself.

Our afternoon trek will be to Achill Island and a drive known as the Atlantic Drive. The narrow road meanders along the island's coastline and offers views of the North Atlantic. A few years back I noted that our visit to the Grand Canyon really brought home to me the concept of awe, especially as a physical reaction. This trip, and especially our visit to Achill Island, taught me the concept of breathtaking, as so many times I would turn to see a new vista and forget to breathe for a moment.

View along the Atlantic Drive on Achill Island.

Sheep dot the hillsides, seemingly unconcerned with our presence. I'm sure they're used to the tourists by now. At one stop, a grave marker is situated not far from the cliffside. If you could have an eternal view from your grave, this spot would be an excellent one.

We stop for lunch at a local restaurant, which Sean told us was the only one on the island, even though we see signs for other establishments. Wish I could remember what we had, but after dining Sharon and I wander down a road in the little village to see one of the bays that has a broad beach. Despite her best efforts she is unable to get a picture of the beach. During bright, sunshiny days, I'm sure the view of the beach is spectacular, but today the fog has rolled in, and we can see rain falling in the distance. Sean wants to make sure we have the chance to see the Deserted Village, which he calls the Derelict Village, before the rain catches up to us.

On the way we pass a golf course. The course seems pretty flat but is full of hazards -- sheep wandering about on the fairways. Not real sure what the rule for that is. Been too many years since I played or watched on TV.

The remains of some 80-100 one-room, stone houses, now mostly in ruins, make up the Deserted Village. Once a small community, the villagers abandoned the site during the potato famine. The buildings continued to be used as summer residences called "booley houses," where those tending sheep and cattle would stay while the livestock grazed the area.

Sheep wander about the ruins of the Deserted Village.

The immediate area is also an important archaeological site, where investigators have found evidence of human habitation dating back to Neolithic times.

After our return to Westport, Sharon and I wander back into town to shop and enjoy the area. On our return to the hotel, I take it in mind to look inside one of the cars parked near the entrance. The owner was standing inside, looking through a window and came out to visit with us. I explain that I'm a tourist and wondered how the interior layout differed from our cars, other than the obvious.

He happily opened the car up and began chatting with us, telling us that he was on holiday and about what part of Ireland he was from, where he lived now, and how he came to be there. Quite a pleasant fellow. Oh, and almost all the controls of the vehicle -- a Ford Focus -- except the gear lever were the same as Sharon's car. Pedals in the same place, levers on the steering column had the same functions. Some minor variations in dashboard layout. I'm still quite sure I wouldn't be able to drive safely over there -- heck, I barely drive safely here -- but a competent American driver would have less to adjust to than I had imagined.

The next day will be our last full day in the country, and it should hold even more wonders to behold.

Some days are diamonds, some days ...

By this point in our trip, we expect every day to hold some grand experience. Something that makes your jaw drop, some "gotta stand and just soak this in 'cause I'm never gonna see it again" site.

Today would not be that day, at least for me. Don't get me wrong. We saw lots of beautiful countryside, glorious loughs that reflected the blue sky we were blessed with. But my recollection is that much of the time was spent on the bus, watching the scenery go by, occasionally trying to catch a snap through the bus window, hoping a wandering herd of sheep will stray onto one of the narrow roads and force us to stop for one of the best photo ops you could hope for.

Much of today's trip takes place in County Donegal, a starker-looking section than we've been in before. We do see quite a few sheep scattered about the steep hillsides, but catching a good picture of a decent sized herd proves impossible for me.

We see evidence of peat gathering -- large strips cut from the earth and white bags containing the ready-to-ship or store product dotting the fields. From what our guide, Sean, tells us, this is not an easily renewed resource.

Sean continues his history lessons, but to be honest, I don't remember much of what he says. Over the course of our week in Ireland, we'll come to understand that the Battle of the Boyne is one of the most significant events in Irish history, when William of Orange defeats James II to solidify his power as king of the British Empire, and for a time, make Protestantism the religion of the realm. If you hear about "Orangemen" in connection with Ireland, the moniker ties to William of Orange.

Benbulben. Sorry, all the photos in this post will be from the

same area.

I can remember my dad joking around St. Patrick's day that we should wear orange instead of green because we were Protestant. (Though over the years I forgot the color and used to tell people we were supposed to wear black. Bad memory; bad, bad memory. Go sit in the corner and think about what you've forgotten.)

Another significant event that crops up in Sean's history lessons is the Flight of the Earls, which predates the Battle of the Boyne by a half century or so. A couple of Catholic nobles with lands in County Donegal had accepted earldoms but later ran afoul of King James I, who eventually established the kingdom of Great Britain and who gave us the Authorized translation of the Bible, known popularly at the King James version.

The earls went into exile with the hopes of returning some day to reclaim their lands, but they never did. They represented for many the last of the Gaelic aristocracy. I'm fairly certain that we stop along Lough Swilly, which was the starting point for their flight. The lough opens to the sea in the north.

Our first real stop of the day will be in Ardara. We're supposed to see a demonstration of the making of tweed and stop at a business called Triona Designs. A woman there tells us about the production of the fabric, which had its own particular plaid pattern, passed down through the family. I've put links to a couple of videos I shot at the bottom of this post. (Why just links? Well, they're not the most fascinating vids, and rather than tempt you to click now, I thought I'd give you a bit of a choice.)

She's quite practised with her presentation, but really, if you've ever been to  a state park or a traditional village that puts on demonstrations of colonial or pioneer days, you've seen and heard about the process. We'll be served our choice of tea and scones or Irish coffee (Sharon and I go the tea and scones route), but the real purpose of the trip seems to put a bunch of American tourists in a shop where they will pay a chunk of change to be able to say they'd bought authentic Irish sweaters or caps from a genuine Irish family business. I will say the scones were delicious. Starbucks and Panera could take lessons.

We've a bit of time before the bus leaves, so Sharon and I cross the street where a church and its cemetery were located, Parish cemeteries are the norm here, as they once were in America. This church has a decent sized lot, with space for a parking lot and a prayer garden, but it's also located next to a small hill. They terraced the land to make space for the dear departed. Celtic crosses dominate the scenery.

We jump back on the bus and head for Donegal, which in Irish Gaelic translates as Fort of the Foreigner. We have time here to grab a bite at one of the cafes on the diamond -- not the square. The Diamond functions as a meeting area and contains a large obelisk that honors the Four Masters, who are ancient Gaelic historians. Kinda the Venerable Bedes of early Ireland.

I'm thinking that this must have been one of the times when I failed to charge my camera battery the night before because Sharon has a lot more pictures than I do.

Castle Donegal dominates the area next to the Diamond. The O'Donnell clan chieftain built the castle in the 15th century, and significant additions were made in the 17th century. We walk all the way 'round the castle taking pictures, and at one point Sharon clambers up on a raised area so she can take a picture of the castle through the wrought-iron fence. We don't know whether people are allowed up there, and she tells me that one man who walks by while she's taking pictures mutters something about tourists. Yep, that'd be us.

While walking back to meet the bus, we pass a shop with a unique specialty -- zombie tattoos and makeup. Sitting in the middle of this ancient, quaint burg, it seems somehow out of place. I took a picture of one of the more socially acceptable windows. It's over on my Flickr page: http://www.flickr.com/photos/moconn852/10525323626/in/set-72157637027819346

Our next stop will be in Drumcliff, and on the way we pass through Ballyshannon. Ballyshannon claims to be the oldest town in Ireland and housed an important RAF base during the second World War, if I remember correctly what Sean told us as we drove through.

I'm not sure that Ballyshannon was the place, but I know a river runs through the town, and being connected to the ocean, it's a tidal river, as are many of the rivers we see near the coast. I'm reminded that on our way through one town we were treated to the sight of a bunch of boats lying on their sides on the river bottom waiting for the tide to rise and make them float again. As we drove past, we saw a man, presumably the owner, climb up into one of the boats.

W.B. Yeats gravesite. Photo by Sharon O'Connor

The drive to Drumcliff will take us by a mountain called Ben Bulben, or Benbulben, or Benbulbin. William Butler Yeats is buried in the churchyard at Drumcliff, which is supposed to be the attraction we stop for, in the shadow of Ben Bulben. The last three lines of his poem, "Under Ben Bulben," are etched on his headstone. In fact, the whole last stanza of the poem references his wish to be buried there, and Sean recites the lines before we arrive at the cemetery:

Under bare Ben Bulben’s head
In Drumcliff churchyard Yeats is laid.
An ancestor was rector there
Long years ago, a church stands near,
By the road an ancient cross.
No marble, no conventional phrase;
On limestone quarried near the spot
By his command these words are cut:

     Cast a cold eye
     On life, on death.
     Horseman, pass by!

 I know now that Yeats won a Nobel in Literature, and I ran across him in an online course I took in poetry, one of those projects in which I go back and read or learn stuff I was supposed to have learned in high school and college on the theory that it will be good for me, which it was.

But I'm not a poetry convert in the sense that I still read much of it or try my hand at it. So I'm not all that excited about seeing the grave or the little monument set up just outside the entrance to the church grounds. Some in our group feel the need to have their picture made with the statue or next to the headstone. To each his own.

I'm more interested in the ancient cross mentioned in the poem. A Celtic cross looms over  a section of the graveyard, and the sign below it reports that the cross is one of the oldest of its type in the country.

Legend has it that St. Columcille, or St. Columba, established a monastery in Drumcliff in the middle of the 6th century. The cross was a later addition and dates from the 9th to 11th century, depending on who's doing the dating.

Monastery tower. Photo by Sharon O'Connor

Across the road from the cross stands a round tower. Sean had told us about these towers, which the monks built to protect themselves from invaders. The door is about 15 feet above ground, and when threatened, the monks would climb up the ladder, enter the tower and pull the ladder up behind them. Clever, eh?

Of course, the invaders learn how to smoke them out by, um, smoking them out.

Somehow I managed to not shoot an acceptable picture of the tower, so I've put one of Sharon's in this post.

The rest of the day escapes me, but we are headed for Westport and the promise of pirate stories. Sharon named her sailyak after a pirate ship, so I know she's excited about the prospect of encountering old-time pirates, and a bonus will turn out to be that the main pirate in question is a woman. More on her in the next post.

Video links:
Running the loom:  http://youtu.be/NovKguni2xc
Discussing the fabric making process: http://youtu.be/2kKj3Vyl2-4 

Born in Londonderry, born in Derry, too

Look on the map of Ireland the tour company supplied us, and you will see that one of our planned stops is Derry. But chances are you've heard of Londonderry. Same place.

The naming controversy goes way back in history. The Gaelic word from which Derry derives is usually translated "oak grove," and after the founding of a Celtic monastery, by St. Columba in the 6th century according to legend, the city came to be called by the Gaelic for "oak grove of Columba." James I of England granted a charter for the city under the name "Derrie."

Old walls across the river from the old city. Never did find
out what they used to be part of.

This original city, across the River Foyle from the old, walled city, was destroyed and a new city was built and named "Londonderry" because of help received from companies in London. But it's County Derry, and the town council is the Derry Council. Like just about everything else, the name became a political football, and what you called the town indicated whether you supported the nationalist cause, which would like to see Northern Ireland re-united with Ireland, or the unionist cause, which wants to keep N.I. British.

Many times the city name is written Derry/Londonderry, which prompted one radio host and wag to suggest it be called "Stroke City."

Like the rest of Northern Ireland, Derry/Londonderry experienced its share of woe and violence during The Troubles, and as we drove around the town for a quick orientation tour, we saw murals and signs that indicated the division was alive and well. One sign proclaimed, "Entering Free Derry." Sorry, I didn't get a picture of that.

Our guide for the afternoon was Ronan McNamara, a fine, Irish name, right? And Ronan wears his heritage -- not with red hair or some other stereotypical Irish appearance -- but with Asian features. His father was Irish and his mother Chinese. He said his friends call him "Chirish." He's also Buddhist, but he explained that he was neither Catholic Buddhist or Irish Buddhist.

As might be expected, his appearance, coupled with his Irish accent, sometimes occasions comments. He told us that when he graduated University, he took a job teaching Irish Gaelic. When he went to a shop in the little town where he was to teach, a couple of women began talking about him in Irish, completely unaware that he fully understood them. He asked them a question in Irish, which produced no small amount of embarrassment for the women, one of whom excused herself and ran off to the bathroom.

After a short bus tour, we stopped near one of the gates of the old, walled city, then took a stairway to the top of the wall. In 1688 the city became a focus in the struggle against James II, who'd been ousted, and William of Orange, who ruled at the time. James invaded Ireland, and after taking Dublin moved up the coast. After arriving at Derry/Londonderry, he demanded the city's surrender. They refused and shut the city gates. A siege lasting more than 3 months commenced, and almost a third of the city's population died. But James was not victorious.

Thatched roof building.

We descend from the wall to walk through an area in the old city that is part arts district, part shops and part living history. The area features period architecture, including a thatch-roof hut. Not much was going on, though, because it was Sunday.


We walk through a gate in the wall to face the Guildhall. Ronan points out that the cannon that ring the old city on the wall are pointed at the hall and makes a joke about how the residents must feel about their politicians.

The Guildhall was built in the mid 1800s and looks for all the world like a church from the outside, which is what I thought it was. The city government is housed here, but the hall also functions as a kind of civic center where community meetings take place. Today the hall hosts a wedding fair, and old limousines are lined up in the plaza in front of the hall. Dancing fountains enhance the plaza.

Ronan tells us he's not allowed to conduct tours in the Guildhall, but if we want to follow him as he takes a shortcut through the hall back to our hotel, he might be able to point out a thing or two as we pass through.

A bombing in Derry damaged the stained-glass windows in the hall, and a statue of Queen Victoria suffered the loss of its hands, which have never been replaced despite the restoration of the rest of the hall. Ronan encourages us to come back inside the hall after the tour to see the pipe organ and visit the small museum housed there.

At the conclusion of the tour, Ronan tells us how much he appreciates that we traveled to Northern Ireland. Many visitors to Ireland, he says, avoid Northern Island because of its violent past. But the country has made great strides toward reconciliation and tolerance, he says, and he hopes we'll take that message home -- which I have just done.

Some of our group head for the hotel, which is across the street, some head back toward the old city to shop and search for pubs to visit later. Some go hang out at the river. Sharon and I head back to the Guildhall and go upstairs where the wedding fair is going on.

Some of the hats at the wedding fair.
(See video at the botton for a bit of the fashion show.)

We arrive just as the exhibitors are packing up, but we see the last bit of the fashion show, and view the silly hats that women over there wear. A couple of booths are pushing the last of the cookies they set out for visitors, so we snag a couple. They're not real sweet, so I actually eat mine.

We've a bit of time 'til supper, so we go back downstairs and hang out by the river to shoot pics. The city constructed a pedestrian/cycle bridge across the river, symbolically linking the Guildhall to the old barracks that used to house British soldiers. The barracks area is being revamped and appears to have a large concert area.

A very old wall is incorporated into the area, and I never find out exactly what its origins are. Our tour guide, Sean, tells me it could have been a make-work project from the time of the famine, built to give residents a job so they could afford to buy food.  I wonder if it might be a remnant of the original Derry that was destroyed. Or it could have been an old British fortification.

The Peace Bridge

The bridge is "S" shaped, with two large, diagonal columns. All this is very symbolic. This is what the visitor's bureau says about it:

The Peace Bridge physically and symbolically unites both sides of the River Foyle and is conceived as two distinct structural systems that work in harmony, a pair of identical curved suspension structures, each allied to opposing banks, in a fluid “S” shaped alignment. At the middle of the river both structural systems tangibly overlap, boldly interacting to create a single unified crossing . . .

 Each curved section has bench seating built in so folks can set a spell and visit, or rest, or maybe just enjoy the scenery. A sculpture of two men reaching toward each other stands nearby. It's called "Hands Across the River." The hands don't quite touch. More symbolism.

We linger at the river until time to eat, then call it a night after supper. More adventure lies ahead, we hope.

From glen to glen and down the mountainside

This is one time, dear friends, when I wish I were a better writer or that I'd had the chance to kiss the blarney stone and stir up the lyrical Irishman that theoretically lurks somewhere in my genes.

Our guide, Sean, always fusses with us about the need to be ready to leave on time because we have a schedule to keep -- just one of the things you live with when you take a bus tour. Today he pushes a bit harder in hopes we'll leave a bit earlier than usual because the streets will soon be cordoned off for a marathon, and leaving town will be harder if we start late.

As we drive north -- I presume it was north; I've no real sense of direction, but it seems we must head that way given our itinerary for the day -- Sean begins to tell us about Jonathan Swift, who as well as being a famous author, was a cleric who served at St. Patrick's Cathedral in Dublin and at a church in Belfast, or at least in County Antrim.

Just outside Belfast lies Ben Madigan, also known as Cavehill, which, according to Sean's telling of the story, Swift viewed every day. Viewed from the right angle, you can see the outline of a giant profile, which looks like a giant sleeping on his back. Legend has it that this sleeping giant inspired Swift to write Gulliver's Travels.

True or not, it's an enchanting story, but not the most fantastical one we'll hear this day.

We'll be taking the Causeway Coastal route, which one Northern Ireland tourist website describes as following "the coast road through the nine Glens of Antrim, winding between various picturesque villages and unforgettable scenic locations." This description turns out to actually be something of an understatement.

Better than the picture, really.

The two-lane road twists and turns, following the coastline so closely in some spots you wonder if it ever floods at high tide. At one point Sean tells us that the headland we can see across the water is Scotland, just 30 miles or so away.

When we returned from our vacation the woman driving the bus to the parking lot asked where we'd been. When we told her Ireland, she asked if it was beautiful and did it look like the movies. We both told her it was better than the movies.

Though the leaves were beginning to turn colors, the dominant color through the glens was green -- bright, vivid greens divided by blackthorn hedges and dotted with mumbruschia, a dazzling orange wildflower, and white bags recently filled with peat moss. The sights were so compelling I wanted to hijack the bus, find a place to pull over and go sit on a fence to soak it in.

When I look at the pictures I took of the countryside I'm struck by the brightness of the green fields we saw. Often I have to saturate the colors in the photos I take to make them look the way I remember the reality. With my Ireland pics, I find myself taking a bit of the color out because I don't want viewers to think I'd artificially enhanced the green to make a point about Eire being called the Emerald Isle.

We stop in a couple of small towns along the way for a break and photo ops. In Carnlough, while most folks are off snapping all the photos they can for the duration of the stop, I become interested in three older bicyclists who've stopped for coffee or tea. They begin chatting with members of our group.

The talk turns to the weather, which, they tell us, has been very nice of late, which they kindly attribute to our visit. The temps have run from the low 50s to the mid 70s, and we've had precious little rain. Someone asks the bikers about snow, and they tell us that they receive very little usually,

But in 2011, they said, Ireland experienced an unusually heavy snowfall.

"You could look across the hills, and it looked like the Sahara," one of the bikers said. The snow was so deep in spots that baby lambs were covered up and unable to dig their way out. Sad story.

The bus engine cranks up, so we know it's time to leave, and we thank the bikers for the chat; they wish us well. Have I mentioned how nice the Irish are?

More beautiful scenery, then we make a stop in Ballycastle, hometown of both our guide and our driver, Paddy. We stop along the harbor, which has a broad, sandy beach and little park dominated by a sculpture of seagulls in flight. Waves broke on the beach and the rocky area next to it. The harbor lay on the other side of the rocks.

Swan sculpture in Ballycastle. The grass is actually greener.
I toned it down a bit.

Back to the weather. Just about everyone I know, no matter what state they live, will at some point say, "If you don't like the weather, just wait a few minutes, and it will change. As flighty as the weather has been in places I've lived, none of them can touch the coast of Ireland. In the same morning, shoot, in the same half hour, it can be foggy, cloudy, clear, back to foggy, back to mostly clear, then cloudy and rainy. It's crazy.

Our next stop will be the reason we decided to take the tour that went through Northern Island, the Giant's Causeway. On our way there we stop to see a rope bridge, the Carrick-a-rede, which connects the mainland with a small island. The bridge has been there in one form or another for years, and the theory is that it was first built by fishermen. Now it's mostly used by tourists, and it was last rebuilt in 2008. Apparently some visitors who cross to the island on the bridge become so unnerved by the experience that they won't go back that way and have to be taken off the bridge by boat.

Near the shore at the Giant's Causeway.

The Giant's Causeway ought to be one of the top natural wonders of the world. An estimated 40,000 basalt columns of various heights rise up out of the sea and extend a short way up into the hills. Geologists say they were created by a volcanic eruption, and I'm sure they have an explanation for the hexagonal shapes of the columns, but I don't know what it is.

The Irish have another, much more charming, explanation, which you can read about here: http://thenorthernirelandguide.co.uk/giants-causeway-and-legend-finn-mccool. Go ahead. Go check it out, then come back here.

You can explore the area using one of four trails, and on the main trail that leads to the columns, a bus takes tourists who'd rather not walk down to site. We chose that trail, but we walked Along the way you can see various formations that have become part of the giant's story. You can see a camel, a shoe, a chair, the giant's granny, and a pipe organ. And your imagination doesn't even have to stretch much to see the incarnations.

We're supposed to eat lunch while there, but we spend enough time on the trail and in the gift shop that we don't leave enough time for food. Fortunately we'd squirreled away some fruit and scones from breakfast.

Our last stop will be Derry/Londonderry, and our path takes us through Ballykelly, site of an infamous bombing during The Troubles. Seventeen people, The incident took place at a disco/pub, and 11 soldiers and six civilians, died in the attack. Four people received life sentences for their involvement.

If you put aside the grisly incident, you will be charmed by the village, one of those picturesque towns mentioned above. Our drive takes us alongside Lough Foyle, which now the sun has reappeared, shimmers deep blue, another picturesque site that makes me want to highjack the bus.

By this point, it may seem like we've spent an entire day, but that would be a wrong impression. We roll into Derry early in the afternoon and have time to settle in before hopping back on the bus with a local guide, Ronan McNamara, to whom our leader, Sean, refers as having a great Irish name. He says that two or three times before we meet the man, and only a really dense person would miss the implication that Ronan may not be a stereotypical red-headed Irishman.

I'll tell you more about Ronan and Derry in my next post.

A titanic day

Our second day in Belfast begins with a tour of the city, which will be designed to carefully avoid the march scheduled to take place that day. Marches, or parades, go back a way in Northern Ireland. Participants march for a variety of causes -- civil rights, protests, celebrations of specific events. The problems arise when Catholics or Protestants march through an area controlled by the other group.

We're told religion may be the overt reason for the marches -- and for The Troubles or the Recent Unpleasantness, as the violence and civil unrest that tore the city, and Northern Ireland apart for so long is called -- but the real issues have more to do with prejudices that lead to people being denied jobs or housing. Amazing how often religion is used as a front for decidedly nonreligious actions.

We don't start with The Troubles. Best to see some of the more appealing  -- and some of the more hopeful -- portions of the city to begin with.

First stop, Queen's University, a huge institution with beautiful architecture. We'll stop for a photo op there. This will be one of those times when our tour leader will be herding ducks. We have lots of photo enthusiasts who like to take lots of pictures. This will be a continuing issue, but by the middle of the tour we learn that when we hear the bus engine start, we need to wrap up and get on board. The city is full of photographic possibilities, and Sharon and I know we'll be walking about later taking pics of cool stuff we can barely see from bus.

We pass by the Albert Memorial clock tower, dedicated to Prince Albert, which leans about 4 feet off vertical. It's been dubbed The Leaning Tower of Belfast.

We drive along the River Lagan, the major river running through Belfast. The area along the tidal river has been revitalized, featuring several art installations, a river walk, shopping and some great, old buildings, including a ship's chandler and the customs house.

Once the river teemed with Atlantic salmon, then over the years the river declined, the salmon disappeared. Other fish species declined as well. Part of the renewal of the river involved reintroducing fish, including salmon, and the developers succeeded.

The bases of lamp posts on one of the main bridges over the river are adorned with fish. I haven't been able to determine how old the lamp posts are and what the purpose of the fish is, but I like to think they either recall the time when the river teemed with fish or celebrate their return.

Two really cool sculptures also adorn the street. One, the Beacon of Hope, towers above the river. It's a metal frame representation of a woman standing on an orb, arms outstretched and holding a ring. According to Wikipedia, the ring represents thanksgiving, and the orb is a globe representing peace, harmony and thanksgiving.

The other sculpture is the Big Fish, made of ceramic tiles. Each tile has some part of Belfast history, some with newspaper articles old and new, some with photos -- including, of course, the Titanic, which was built here -- some with drawings. One drawing, of a soldier, was produced by a child and is mentioned in several Web articles about the sculpture.

We travel through Cathedral Quarter, aptly named from the presence of St. Anne's cathedral, St. Patrick's church and other churches. St. Anne's is a Church of Ireland cathedral, whereas St. Patrick's is just a Catholic church, but it looks like a cathedral. A huge Celtic cross, constructed in modern times, dominates one side of St. Anne's and will become one of the objects of our afternoon photo quest.

While searching for the cross that afternoon, we wound up standing on a street corner with our city map from the hotel trying to figure out which way to go. An older gentleman came up and asked what we were trying to find. By that point, I'd come to think the cross was located at St. Patrick's, so I told the man we were trying to find that church. He made a face but gave us directions, While he was doing so, he kept stressing that we'd go past St. Anne's and then the church would be just down the street.

This tile on the Big Fish is taken from a period photo
showing the Titanic being built at Harland & Wolff.

You'd have to have heard the conversation, but he seemed keen to point out St. Anne's, not so much as a landmark on the way, but as a destination we should consider. I don't know if he was Protestant and wanted us to see the city's Protestant jewel or if he guessed what we really wanted to see.

But the cool thing was that after he gave us directions, and I'd repeated them, he walked off a short way, and stood at a crosswalk waiting to cross the road. When the light changed he walked off in the direction he'd told us to go, so I thought he was headed that way. When we reached the last turn onto the road that would take us to our destination, he turned, came back to us and told us to keep heading that way. Then he walked off in the direction we'd all come from. A couple of blocks later, we would see another resident take a poor, lost soul in tow. Nice folks, those Irish.

Back to the tour. We drive into the section of the city that saw most of the strife during the '70s and '80s. The walls that separated Catholic neighborhoods from Protestant still stand, but the checkpoints have been removed or rendered inoperative. Graffiti, from scribbles to sophisticated murals, decorates the walls now, and it's obvious that though the violence and terrorism have largely come to an end, prejudice and division live.

We head back toward the river, passing the SS Nomadic, the last remaining White Star Line ship. The Nomadic sailed until 1968, serving in both world wars and ending up as a tender for a couple of British cruise ships before being bought by a private party. Eventually a preservation group took ownership, restored it and made it into a museum.

Our last stop on the tour was Titanic Belfast. The Titanic was built in the Harland and Wolff shipyard here, so it's a major part of Belfast history. The center opened in time for the 100th anniversary of Titanic's demise. The exhibits are outstanding and even include an amusement park type ride through a replica part of the ship.

One of the many displays at Titanic Belfast.

But the place is huge and requires a significant investment of time, far more time than was allotted us by the tour company, one of the shortcomings of doing a tour. We really hadn't caught on to our being able to tell the tour director that we wanted to stay and would make our way back to the hotel on our own. Still, we'd been through a fascinating Titanic exhibit at the Fort Worth Museum of Science and History, so we didn't really feel cheated. If you're ever in Belfast, block off a day and go. They really have a ton to see and do. And if you can't go, check out their website: http://www.titanicbelfast.com

Back at the hotel, we ask the concierge for a recommendation for a fish and chips place. He took us outside and pointed down the driveway to the corner and said he'd heard good things about the little shop down there.

We went and were not disappointed. The woman who helped us was very considerate to a couple of tourists and recommended that one of us get just fish and the other fish and chips. That would be cheapest, she said, and would be enough for the both of us. Was it ever. A huge filet of fish, probably most of the side of a fish, for each of us and a slew of what we would call steak fries. And it was one of the cheapest meals we had. The back of the shop opened onto a small dining area next to a combination farmer's market and flea market, where we wandered around after we finished our meal.

We purchased a couple of rhubarb bars from one of the vendors -- delicious if you like rhubarb -- and looked at all the offerings. We saw some really strange stuff -- pickled baby octopus, for one -- along with the fresh produce and fish on display. Plenty of food vendors offered a variety of menu selections, and I wondered just what their version of Mexican food was like but didn't try any. Still stuffed from lunch. That's my story, and I'm stickin' to it.

Then we headed into the city, spending most of the rest of the afternoon taking pictures of the sights noted on the bus tour, checking out the shops, and having our encounter with the nice old man. From all the wandering about we'd done the night before, and with our handy map in hand, we'd learned enough to make it back to the hotel easily in time for supper. That night, while much of the rest of the tour group went pub crawling, we hung out next to the river for a while, trying to take some nice pictures. Without a tripod, though, I only managed to take a couple of shots that came out well. Then it was up to the room to watch a movie and off to bed, looking forward to another day of adventure.

Dancing in the streets

On the way to Belfast our tour guide begins a discussion of "The Troubles," which he also refers to at times as "The Recent Unpleasantness." (You can hear the capital letters in his voice.)

The problems between the Catholics and Protestants reach back centuries, and in many ways, have little to do with religion. When the English took control of Ireland, the vagaries of their leaders' religious preferences were bound to throw the Emerald Isle into turmoil, and they've never fully recovered.

Less than a month had passed since a nationalist march in Belfast turned violent, and a march was scheduled for the day after we arrived. We were to have quite a bit of free time in the city, but our guide, Sean, advised that we talk to him about which areas of the city we should avoid in case trouble would break out again. He repeated the warning several times.

Our lodging for two nights was the Belfast Hilton, yet another hotel way above our usual standards. I should mention that the materials we received before the trip pointed out, almost apologetically, that the rooms in Irish hotels tended to be smaller than American rooms, and something else I read indicated that we'd probably be sleeping in double beds. We did have one room that was outfitted with two double beds, but the rest of the time we enjoyed king-size and queen-sized beds. Strangely, one room we were assigned had a queen-size bed and a single bed.

Belfast City Hall at night.

One more thing about the beds. None of them had a top sheet. You would have a sheet covering the mattress and a duvet. Weird. OK, enough about beds.

After we checked in, settled in our room and enjoyed the view overlooking the river, we went back to the lobby to find out where the nearest ATM was. We ran into the concierge, who asked if our guide had told us about the events that evening. Sharon thought he was talking about the march, and when she brought it up, he seemed confused. We asked what he was referring to, and he told us that it was Culture Night in Belfast, an annual event in which all kinds of activities would be going in the heart of the city.

The concierge bundled off, so we asked the desk attendant about an ATM and about the Culture Night event, and she gave us a brochure about the events. The nearest ATM turned out to be at an arena next door to the hotel. Strangely, the lobby area appears to stay open, even when no events are scheduled.

A quartet stood outside the arena, singing barbershop and four-part gospel songs -- a teaser for the Culture Night events. We listened for a while before returning to the hotel for dinner. I'll discuss food in another post.

Armed with a map, we headed out to capture some culture. Unfortunately, it was already dark, which messes with our ability to figure out where we're going. This is almost always a problem with me, but not so much, usually, with Sharon. We did find City Hall, which was lit quite nicely, and heard music coming from several of the pubs.

Just as we were about to give up, we saw a bunch of musicians carrying their instruments. We followed for a bit, and then I drew close to them and asked if they were going to set up somewhere. One of the guys told us they had just finished playing and said, "The action's back there," pointing us in the way we should go.

We came upon a drum band that had drawn quite a crowd and stopped to listen for a bit. A couple of young women carrying shopping bags came up, stopped to listen, then dropped their bags and began to dance. An older guy with an mp3 player and headphones came up and started dancing as well, occasionally saying something to the women, who pretty much blew him off. As the women warmed up, they shucked the jackets they wore and carried on. They noticed that I was recording them but didn't seem to care.

Now that we were more or less properly oriented, we went looking for more entertainment and managed to find what seemed to be a central area. A band was winding up its set, and we heard their last two songs. Nearby a group of BMX riders performed tricks on ramps.

Returning to the hotel proved quite easy now that we had some landmarks to work with. We'd spent a couple of hours wandering about and enjoying the sights, and plopped gratefully on our duvet-covered beds, looking forward to the next day, when we'd have the opportunity to explore in the daytime.

War of the roses

Remember the movie "War of the Roses"? Well, one Irish family lived out a version of that story. Imagine, if you can, one half of a house decorated in one style, and the other half decorated in a completely different style.

We'll examine that story in a bit.

We left Dublin and headed for Northern Ireland. Northern Ireland consists of six of the nine counties that make up the region of Ulster. Northern Ireland is predominantly Protestant and is under British rule. Dublin is part of the Republic of Ireland, which is mostly Catholic and exercises self rule. 

You won't know you've passed from one to other any more than you'd notice driving from Texas to Oklahoma on a back road. There's no border crossing, no immigration to pass through. But the signs would give it away. 

In the Republic all the road signs are bilingual and the distances and speeds are metric. In Northern Ireland, they dispense with the bilingual signs and the distances and speeds are in miles. In contrast to the Texas-Oklahoma idea, you will also switch currencies. The Republic uses the euro, while Northern Ireland uses pounds sterling. 

Speaking of money, as best as I could tell, both systems dispense with small bills. The smallest denomination note I saw was a fiver. One and two euro and pound coins are dispensed in change. Can you imagine doing away with the dollar bill and using one and two dollar coins as freely as you would any other coin? Nah, me neither, given our history.

Also I noticed that shopkeepers seemed really pleased when I would pay with the coinage already figured out instead of standing with a handful of change and asking them what they needed like many other tourists did. The system's really not that hard if you just pay a little bit of attention.

Our first stop of the day will be in Downpatrick. Along the way we'll learn a bit of Irish history, which I won't go into. Suffice to say that national and religious identity shaped the history and created the conflicts that produced a split nation, a division not likely to end any time soon. Google it sometime. It's very interesting.

We'd been given a mini-lesson in Irish (Irish Gaelic or Erse). "Dun" means fort, fortress, stronghold. "Bally" means place of, town of. "Kill" means church. "Glen" means valley, not really new info for most of us. And "Lough" means lake, pronounced like "loch" with the guttural ch that sounds like you're clearing your throat.

Remember, coming up is the story of the house with a split personality, but first we'll stop in at Downpatrick.

"Down," by the way, derives from "dun," so it means, well, you know what it means now. This settlement goes way back in history, almost as far back as Patrick himself. The earliest reference to a religious identity for the town dates to the mid-700s, with the death of an abbot. A cathedral was built there at the top of one of the hills and is by tradition considered to be the burial spot of the saint himself.

The burial site, maybe, more or less, of St. Patrick.

Of course, you can't prove that, and much prestige attaches to a church or spot that can claim to be the burial spot of a saint, so the area would be invested in having the patron saint buried there. But I could only find two other possibilities, and the evidence apparently isn't any stronger for either of them. 

During our visit to the cathedral a nice woman briefly gives us Patrick's history and reminds us quite firmly that on St. Patrick's day, the Irish do not celebrate with green beer but with devotion. Our guide has already mentioned that Patrick's color is not green but blue and that the association of Patrick with the shamrock as a teaching tool to explain the Trinity came about centuries after his death and is, therefore, probably not reliable.

From the cathedral we drive into town to visit the St. Patrick's center, a quite modern tourist attraction/museum, where we see a short film about Patrick, which is interesting but fails to provide any new information. The museum is quite nice, but we don't have time to hang out and explore because we have to grab lunch and head for the next destination: Castle Ward, the house with the unusual decorating scheme.

As we drive through the gorgeous countryside, an opening in the trees suddenly reveals the site of an 18th century mansion with a beautifully manicured lawn, looking for all the world like something out of a period movie. For "Game of Thrones" fans, some location shooting is done here. The site was the home of the Ward family for 400 years, though it is now cared for and administered by the national trust.

The old castle survives, though we did not see it, but the house, built in the 1760s, is the reason for our visit. Bernard Ward built the house and preferred the Georgian style. His wife, Anne, disliked that style and Bernard. I'm thinking the docents told us it was an arranged marriage. They did not grow to love each other, though they were together long enough to produce eight children. The house is neatly divided in two halves, Bernard's half decorated in Georgian, and Anne's in Gothic.

A corner of the great hall. The plaster hangings in this section

are genuine. The ones on the other side of this wall were produced by
dipping common household objects and a real violin in plaster
and mounting them. The columns are faux marble, but they were supposed
to be. I don't remember what the process was called, but it was popular

in the 18th century.

I'm sorry I don't have pictures of Anne's half. The asked us not to take flash pictures, and Anne's half of the house is dark. I, meanwhile, forgot that my fancy, latest camera takes nice, low-light pictures if you only remember to use the right settings. It may be for the best. I wouldn't want viewers to react like the woman in the Haverty's commercial who has a panic attack when she and her chair are confronted with ugliness.

Construction on the house lasted for years, and the story goes that Anne left when it was finished. One set of construction workers flim-flammed Bernard. Plaster figures adorning the walls and ceilings were popular at the time, and Bernard commissioned workers to decorated the great hall of the house. The work drug on until Bernard issued an ultimatum. He would be leaving for a while and expected the work to be complete. On his return, he found to his satisfaction that his orders had been carried out.

But a modern inspection of the work revealed that the workers took a shortcut and dipped common household items and instruments in plaster and mounted them on the wall. As far as anyone knows, Bernard never discovered the sham.

Next up: Belfast.