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. 

There and back again

Most of my trips are taken by car. I would fly more had I the money, or perhaps, were I less cheap. A few trips we've taken have required travel by air, and I would rate our experiences as so-so. A three-hour or so domestic flight can be tolerable because you know that you are flying more than a thousand miles in that time, leaving you with plenty of time to spend at your destination. Of course, you can't exactly drive to Ireland.

Flying post 9/11 requires some inconveniences -- removing shoes, stashing liquid items in small, clear containers that are then placed in clear, plastic bags for inspection. Because I fly so little, I have managed to make myself an object for scrutiny. Like the time years ago that I believed something I'd read on the Internet and didn't take my shoes off. Or the first time I flew with a laptop and didn't know you had to take it out of your laptop case. Those instances caused me to be pulled from the line and tested for explosives residue.

But in recent years, I seem to trigger regular searches. I've pretty much learned the ropes, so I expect to be able to pass through the checkpoints with little fanfare. Hah. I've been patted down and had my ankles checked. The latter makes a bit of sense because I have metal in my right ankle, put there to hold it all together after a motorcycle accident. The guy checking me out insisted, however, that the presence of the metal had nothing to do with it.

Welcome sign at JFK International

I wondered whether I would be suspicious on this trip, and sure enough, as we passed through the checkpoint, I was pulled over for a pat down of my left side while Sharon went through without so much as a how do you do. Mind, I've nothing on my left side that differs from anyone else's left side -- skin, bones, lungs, the usual sort of body parts. What causes this, and how many more searches will I endure on the trip? None, actually.

At Shannon Airport, a regional airport on a par with Abilene or Lubbock, we learn we really don't have to take our shoes off, and when I forget to remove my hat, the security guard asks to look at it and then spends his time examining the Texas Tech logo and telling me about his own hat collection. At Heathrow I speed through the checkpoint with not a pause and still with my shoes on.

Now that's a big apple. Sign says it's in honor of Helsinki.

But the big contrast in travel come with the planes. We fly in an American 737 to New York, a cramped, little plane filled almost to capacity. I think a seat or two might have been vacant but not next to us. Fortunately I have an aisle seat so I can hang out a bit to give Sharon some room. But I'm amazed at how little room we have. I thought that because we'd lost so much weight since the last time we flew, life on board would be more comfortable. If you are the size of the average 10 year old, you might stand a chance.

From New York we will fly on an American 757, which though capable of a trans-Atlantic flight, seems to be larger only as to length. Being on that plane for the six or so hour flight was, to put it charitably, just short of miserable. It came up short of miserable because they at least fed us, something that will cost you extra aboard a domestic flight.

We were served a light supper and a sort of breakfast, which was satisfactory because we were hungry, but we never did figure out what the red sauce on the chicken was. It had little flavor but wasn't disgusting. Not exactly high praise for a meal. We stash away packaged items in our backpacks for future consumption, figuring our dining schedule will be off, and we might need fortification. We were right.

On the way back we flew first on an Aer Lingus Airbus that was every bit as cramped as the American flights. This will be a short hop from Shannon Airport to Heathrow, one of those flights that climbs to cruising altitude and then immediately begins its descent. On board this flight, absolutely everything costs you. No water, tea, soda, coffee unless you cough up 2 euros. It's a short flight, and we're fortified, so that's not a problem. But the big guy next to me is. I sit folded up in my seat and am still bumping up against him, trying my best not to squeeze Sharon out. A landing in Heathrow cannot come too soon.

Finally, we attain nirvana. Our flight to Dallas will be on a British Airways 747, with seats that are more than accommodating. They are wide, have these drop-down parts of the headrest that, when augmented by the small pillow we've been given, make it fairly easy to become comfortable enough to grab some shut-eye.

Small viewing screens built in to the seat in front make it easy to control the in-flight entertainment, and the selection is generous. On the flight over, we were shown a movie and some television shows, which we did not pic, and the screens were awkwardly mounted, causing you to either strain your eyes or strain your neck to view the picture. On the BA flight we had multiple audio and visual options to choose from, pretty handy for a nine-hour flight.

The BA attendants served food and drinks -- as in alcoholic drinks ranging from wine and beer to those cute little bottles that people used to collect and stash away in their carry-on baggage or purses. (We did not partake, and I managed to get a sniff from the attendant when I asked for tea.) Water and juice were served several times to keep us hydrated, and you were free to go back to the galley and snag a soft drink and a snack from the "tuck box." If I have to spend more than a working day on a plane, this is the way to do it.

One last thing in this now overlong post. Something about our ticketing did not allow for early check-in. In Dallas, we were able to use the kiosk at the airport to obtain our boarding passes but not our bag tags. This seemed to flummox the AA personnel, and it took what seemed like an unreasonable amount of time. Meanwhile, at Shannon, the gate agent took our passports and had our boarding passes printed and luggage tagged and on the conveyor in just a couple of minutes.

I asked him if he'd be willing to come to Dallas and teach the AA personnel how to be as efficient. "No," he said with a laugh. "It's an art."

A wrap up from your Maine man

First let me say, no, I'm not going to apologize for the title pun.

Second, I mentioned in the first post of this series that I would have more to say about the lobster buoys that dotted the bay behind our hotel.

Sun glints off the numerous lobster buoys as a group
of gannetts fly over.

We saw lobster buoys everywhere -- in the stores, obviously, because they make iconic souvenirs -- but also on the water. For 20 odd miles on the trip to Mount Desert Island and back on the whale watching tours, you could look anywhere and see lobster buoys. The closer to shore, the more numerous they are, but you can't seem to go far enough away to not see them.

The result it that Maine lobstermen are suffering financially because they catch so many lobsters, they can't sell them for much. We saw a story on the news where one firm had inked a deal with a cruise line to provide them with lobsters, but the 5,000 lbs. they sold were a small dent in the supply.

The Side Street Cafe promoted saving the lobstermen by giving customers $5 off on lobster dishes. But even at $5 dollars off, the prices seemed pretty steep to me. The whole situation reminded me of farmers who grow whatever the hot commodity is because they can receive a good price for it until they wind up overproducing and driving the prices down. But that doesn't always seem to trickle down to the consumer. It's a vicious cycle, folks.

The night before leaving we wanted to use the hotel's shared computer to check in for our flight and print boarding passes, but what appeared to be a father and son were using it for the same purpose. No problem, we thought. They won't take long, and then it will be our turn. The teen ran the computer, but they hit some sort of a snag and the dad said he would go to the room and be right back. He wasn't.

The teen started checking his Facebook, then progressed to playing games. I wondered whether the hotel had another available computer, and Sharon asked the clerk. The clerk said they didn't, but she would help us. So we chatted with her and gave her the info to put in the website, and she printed out our passes.

The morning came all too soon, and my plan to put the top down for the drive to the airport ran into the meteorologist's telling me it was foggy out. Rats. We load up and head out. No fancy restaurants for breakfast; we'll stop at the McDonald's in Ellsworth.

Paul Bunyan reminds passersby the Maine used to be
the logging capital of the U.S. 

Before we make it all the way out of town, however, the sun makes an appearance. I pull off into a convenience store lot and the top comes down. We've left in plenty of time to make one more touristy stop before checking in at the airport.

Paul Bunyan lives in Bangor, sorta. The city erected a statue to Paul Bunyan outside its civic center, and we get the GPS to help us find him. Construction is underway at the center, so we can't come close to the statue, but we're able to take pics of old Paul. Depending on which InterWeb site you believe, Paul, or his statue, stands between 31 and 37 feet high.

I'm sure the Mainers believe that height is impressive, but they've never seen Sam Houston towering over I-45 on the way to Houston. Why, he's even taller than some of the trees.

And old Paul stands by himself. Where is his famous blue ox? Not here. The statue celebrates the lumber industry, and according to the Internet, Bangor claims to be the birthplace of the industry and, thus, Paul. Yeah, right.

They also claim this is the largest Bunyan statue in the world.That could be true. Here's a link to a story from the Bangor newspaper on the occasion of the statue's 50th anniversary: Paul Bunyan turns 50

A woman walks by on the sidewalk across from the statue. She very deliberately avoids looking at us, and I wonder if the statue embarrasses her, or us, or maybe both. In any case, she has no intention of recognizing our presence.

We have to go. We arrive at the airport, turn in the car, and check in. This time we go through the new full-body security scanner machine where you have to raise your arms. Once again, I'm told to wait, and a TSA agent takes me off to the end of the security area. He runs a hand down my back, then kneels and checks my ankles.

I make a comment about the hardware in my leg, but he says, "It's not an x-ray, sir," then sends me on my way. Again, Sharon goes through without a problem.

Our flight's been delayed because of a crew illness. So we sit and wait. Security agents take a dog onto the plane that's bound for Washington. All the unrest in the Middle East, apparently, which is also the excuse for telling passengers on the big plane to Dallas that they can only use the bathrooms in their class. Someday I figure I'll understand why having a coach-class passenger walk all the way to the back of the plane is safer than allowing him or her to use first class.

Some random thoughts about our trip:

I did a lot of Internet research about restaurants and attractions. Some common themes cropped up about the restaurants. Be prepared to wait, service is slow, the staff are rude.

We chose some of the more popular places to eat, but either our timing was very good, or the waits weren't any more onerous than the wait at any popular restaurant at meal time we've ever been to. Besides, we're on vacation. What's a little wait?

Service did seem a bit slow at times, but that could have been to the amount of business, or to the slower pace of a small town, even if it is a tourist town. Or it could just be that they were in no hurry to rush us out of the place to push as much business through as possible. Again, we were on vacation, so I didn't fret too much.

And no one was rude. We try to be respectful and kind to waitstaff. This tends to be reciprocated. Or maybe they were more relaxed because the clientele is different in September than the summer.

This trip began because of a picture in my mind. The pictures came to life and remain in my mind, no longer as something I wish I could see but as a memory of a wonder experienced. When you travel, especially on a "dream" vacation, you wonder if you will come away disappointed, if the reality can live up to the expectation.

But when you encounter the glory of creation, whether a giant cleft in the earth in Arizona, or the stark contrast between mountains and the desert in one place in far west Texas, or the crash of waves on the shore coupled with creatures of the deep great and small in Maine, the expectation will always be overshadowed by the reality.

That's good; that's very good.