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.