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.

In Dublin town

We arrived in Dublin in the dark and the rain. As with our trip to Maine last year, my main expectation has been fulfilled -- I'm in Ireland. But I have this image in my mind that, like Maine, I hope will be exceeded by the reality. This side of the trip I can say the image could never live up to the reality.

We deplaned -- isn't that an awful word? -- and began what has to be the longest jetway walk I believe I have ever taken in an airport. When we reach the end of that, we will still have to walk and walk and walk, seemingly across the entire airport. The airport is featuring a photography exhibition called "200 faces of Ireland," which at first blush is no big shakes. Most of the faces you see look like the faces you'd see in any city you walked about in the U.S. No stereotypical flaming red-haired Irishmen, no craggy faced sheep herders like you'd see in the movies, just ordinary people.

Then I spied Pierce Brosnan's face in the center of one set of photos. A bit further on Gabriel Byrne's face appears. OK, I'm guessing that probably more of the faces in the exhibit are prominent, but you'd have to live there to know who. Still, the exhibit distracts from the long walk.

We eventually wind up in a big hall at the end of a snaking line of people waiting to go through immigration. It looks for all the world like the cruise terminals we've been through. While standing in line, some guy spies my Texas Tech hat and says something about being a long way from Lubbock, Texas. I reply, "Well, at least you know where Lubbock is," and his wife tells us they are both Tech grads. The short discussion that follows indicates they graduated in probably the same decade we did. Fill in your own cliche here.

Once we clear immigration -- we have stamps in our passports! -- we pick up our bags and head for the main area, where a man from the tour company spies the ID on our luggage and checks us in on his iPad. He shuttles us off to wait for the bus to take us to the hotel and says that should happen within the hour. It doesn't. 

When the time does arrive, quite a few people board the bus, but they won't all be going to the same hotel. In fact, we are the only ones on the bus going to our hotel. We arrive at our destination at about mid-morning, which is too early to obtain a room. Not long after our arrival, though, the tour director greets us, relieves us of our luggage, and tells us to make ourselves comfortable in the lobby. We're given a complimentary pot of tea and take a gander at the activity going on around us.

This place is posh. Way beyond the level of any hotel we tend to stay at. Lots of business folks wearing what appears to me to be expensive clothing sit at tables conducting meetings. I feel shabby in my everyday clothes. 

Eventually other people come in and sit in the same section of the lobby. The tour company gave us backpacks, so it's obvious they belong in our group. We don't introduce ourselves, but everyone falls into chitchat. Sharon and I have sat enough and decide we'll go walking around and check on our rooms again when we return.

We only walk around the block, but it becomes obvious that we're in an enchanting place. Old mixes easily with new. This is going to be a cool trip. 

By the time we return, our room is indeed ready. We call the elevator and immediately face a conundrum. After pushing the button for our floor, the elevator stays in place. We push the button again and again go nowhere. I notice a card reader on the wall near the buttons and wonder if we have to use our room key to make the thing operate. Voila. Way above our usual accommodations, and the room bears that out. 

We've enough time to situate ourselves and freshen up a bit before heading back down to meet the group and begin our adventure. We'll take a bus tour of the city and end up at Dublin Castle, for centuries the seat of Irish government and still being used for meetings and conferences, including a recent G8 conference.

Dublin Castle Gardens. This marks the approximate spot
of the "black pool" for which Dublin was named.

The name Dublin comes from two Gaelic words: "dubh" and "linn," which mean "black pool." Our guide tells us that a pool was formed by the confluence of two rivers, but the information from the Dublin Castle site states that the pool was formed by the river Poddle, which was diverted to fill the ditch around the castle. The river is now subterranean, and a garden marks the approximate spot of the original pool. 

While walking around and on the tour, we see a number of political signs urging people to vote on a proposition to eliminate the Seanad, or Senate, the upper house of Irish government. Proponents claim a savings of 20 million euros a year and fewer politicians will result from a "yes" vote. Given the situation in the U.S., I would vote for a proposition like that solely on the strength of having fewer politicians. The vote takes place Oct. 4. 

One of the features of the driving tour is a glimpse at the Georgian houses from the 1700s that once dominated the city. Many were torn down before anyone recognized the architectural and historical value of maintaining them. The buildings are rather nondescript, tall and narrow, butting up against each other so that the only way you know where one stops and another begins is by the seam.

But the doors are colorfully painted and feature quite a variety in their decoration. (This reminds me of my favorite shop name spied while on the tour: Knobs and Knockers.) The stories behind the doors are as colorful as the doors themselves. One has is that a couple of famous Irish writers lived next door to each other, and one was fond of coming home late from the pubs, inebriated and confused as to which was his door. After the more sober writer grew tired of the banging on his door, he painted his door green. The other responded by painting his red. 

A broader version of the story has it that wives painted the doors different colors to help their husbands find their way home after a night at the pub. Still another version has Queen Victoria ordering all the doors in the kingdom painted black after the death of one of the royals. Catholics supposedly painted their doors in bright colors as a protest.

The most famous door in Dublin. Stories abound as to its
origins. Google it and see what you can find.

The most prosaic, and probably surest, explanation is that the architectural style of the buildings was strictly regulated, kind of an ancient building code cum zoning regulation kind of policy, and the only part owners could control was the entrance. Bright door colors, fanlights, gratings and door hardware made the entrances uniquely the owners' own. 

Probably the most affecting part of the tour was a stop along the River Liffey, where a set of statues had been placed as a memorial to the victims of the great famine that began in 1845. The memorial depicts gaunt emigrants on their way to find hope and a better life somewhere else. Unfortunately many of them died aboard the ships they sail out of Dublin on, causing the ships to become known as "coffin boats." 

The famine devastated the Irish population, and they've still not recovered. Our guide said the population of the island before the famine was about 8 million, and the current population stands at just more than 6 million, or about the same population as the DFW metropolitan area. 

This is not the place to be political, but it would be worthwhile to read up on the Irish immigration to America. You might be surprised at the similarities to some of the arguments today.

We wrap up the day's activities with our trip to Dublin Castle. They -- I assume "they" are historians or archaeologists or some such -- have found evidence of a wooden and stone precursor dating back to the 12th century, The existing parts of the castle span multiple centuries and now houses a library, a couple of museums, conference areas and offices, among other things. If you're curious, check out the castle's website at http://www.dublincastle.ie/

Supper that night was left up to us. We were craving a hamburger and hiked over to that American staple, TGI Fridays, which was practically deserted. After a lovely quiet dinner, we returned to the hotel. By 8 p.m. Sharon had turned into a pumpkin, and I followed about 20 minutes later. Small wonder. Working in our time, we had been up for 30 or so hours, with only catnaps to carry us through. Sharon would not awaken until 6 the next morning. I had a bit more trouble sleeping but still felt ready in the morning for the next part of our adventure.