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.
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| Benbulben. Sorry, all the photos in this post will be from the
same area.
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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.
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| 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 headI 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.
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!
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.
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| 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
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