Happy Samhain!

Happy Samhain! And what in the Sam hill is Samhain? Well, first of all, let's start with the pronunciation. I know "Sam hill" and "Samhain" sounded good to you until right about now, when I tell you that Samhain is pronounced SOW-en (rhymes with chowin'). Samhain is a pre-Christian Irish pagan holiday, and the source of a lot of our Halloween traditions.

Like the Day of the Dead, Samhain is considered the time during the year when our world and the world of magic, spirits, souls of the dead, and fairies are closest. A PhD candidate in Irish folklore explains to us that while people were cooking for the ancient festivities, they would send their children around to get supplies from neighbors (apparently, "May I borrow a cup of sugar?" has been around since even before there was sugar). But to protect them from any harmful spirits, they would hide the children's identities with masks and disguises. And voilà! They're trick-or-treating.

Except that now it's not a cup of sugar, it's more like an enormous bag of individually wrapped blocks of sugar.

We thought only Americans really did Halloween, but showing up in Ireland at Halloween time turns out to be a happy stroke of luck. This country is fully decorated and crazy for the holiday. Our Halloween actually started two days early, at Bunratty, when the girls dress up with their new Irish friends (the daughters of my old Irish friend, Brendan). One thing we notice is that the children in Ireland tend to dress up with traditional scary/creepy costumes. We don't see one single princess, and the only foofy dresses are the torn ones on the bloody brides. At a place as Disney-picturesque as Bunratty, it's utterly refreshing not to have even a whiff of Disney princess (or Star Wars for that matter!).  Heading out from Brendan's farmhouse, where we're staying for the week, we have Ellen as a witch, Gigi as a gypsy, Pippa as a leopard, and Catherine, the black cat, who is far too adorable to bring anybody bad luck. 

 

 

By Halloween itself, Ellen and Catherine and family are back in Dublin. So left to our own devices, we find out from a group of teenagers where the trick-or-treating hotspots are in the town nearest to the farmhouse, which is Athenry, County Galway. We are now experts on where to get the goods in this town. The trick-or-treating looks a lot like what I knew growing up. The rules seem to be the same; if the house is decorated and/or lit up, it's fair game. Despite how lonely the scene looks in the photo on the left, the truth is that there are plenty of other children in costume and making the rounds, as you can see when several groups converge on this obviously-open-for-candy household.

 

Yes, prowling around the graveyard of the nearly 800 year old Athenry abbey ruins is spooky. And certainly the gypsy and leopard are scary....

 

But not as scary as several huge bags of candy and junk food. Among the candies, you will notice there are none of the American-style bite-sized Snickers I sneak out of my girls' bags each year, nor any of the Toffifees I was hoping would end up in a European trick-or-treat bag. Sigh. Doesn't look much like a North American trick-or-treat haul, does it?

But wait. It gets weirder. Yes, weirder than Banana Skids, Fizzy Pops, and Fruit Pastilles. Try looking through your kids' Halloween booty and finding snack bags of Worcester, Salt & Vinegar, and Smoky Bacon chips or, worse yet, Chickatees -- the chicken-flavored puffs.

Now that's scary!

 

 

 

 

Closed for the Season

One of the greatest joys of traveling is the unexpected discovery. And what we discover is that, most apologetically, Ireland is closed. The country was, apparently, open until some vague, unnamed timed earlier this month, with the occasional petting zoo (yes, we're talking to you Newgrange Farm) taking vacation as early as September.

My Irish friend Brendan says, "It takes a brave sort of person to visit Ireland in the wintertime." But what he doesn't take into account is the following:

1) We might not be brave but, instead, just plain stupid.
2) We figured, if it was going to be rainy and cold, we might as well go someplace that is supposed to be rainy and cold and can be enjoyed that way (hello, cozy pub!). As opposed to Italy, or Spain, for example.
3) Many of Ireland's tourist sites are actually somewhat enjoyable from the outside. It gets to a certain point where we don't really need to visit the inside of another castle or church.
4) And at least this means we have no lines, and no crowds, anywhere -- even at the most touristy of spots. The ones that are open, I mean.

So, here's a partial list of things we do not get to see while in Ireland:

Though Aughnanure Castle, which is our first stop on a day of touring Connemara, is closed, I want to climb into it anyway. You can see by the photo that it would be easy enough to scramble through the gaps in the ruined 16th century walls. I would like to say that I am held back by common sense, or by the desire to set a good example for our children. But, in fact, I am only held back by my husband's common sense and desire to set a good example for our children, and I, personally, regret not breaking and entering.

 

Consolation prize: cute puppies in the parking lot.

What is open later this same day is the 19th century Kylemore Abbey. But I wish that it were closed. We are using a Lonely Planet guidebook from 1996 -- the same one I used when I visited Ireland about 15 years ago -- as a rough guide. I didn't get to see the Abbey the last time, because it was an exclusive convent boarding school. Well, now it's open to the public, and open year-round, unfortunately. It is shockingly expensive (in fact, it will turn out to be the single most expensive admission fee we pay, at 25€ for the family). And as impressive as it is from the outside, the inside is really just not worth it. The best part of the place is this view and the excellent café, both of which come before the ticket counter, so no need to pay.

Another day, at the Dunguaire Castle, we see the people milling about the outside, craning their necks upwards, and we know it's closed without even seeing the "Sorry..." sign on the door. Luckily, at this point we are on our way to the Cliffs of Moher, and we are optimistic that it's difficult to close a cliff.

 

And finally, on another day, we head down toward Ennis where we are all disappointed not to be able to go into the Craggaunowen Project, which is a sort of re-created prehistoric village. This is the closed place we most wish we could see. Then we head to the also-closed Knappogue Castle, pictured below. By now, it is starting to feel a little like our Dismayland Paris experience. But with more driving.

So we are relieved when we get to Quin Abbey, which is open, even though it's not a major tourist destination and not, probably something we would have bothered to go see. Still, it's open! And why? Mostly because it's a currently used cemetery. It's a partial ruin from the 15th century, with some of the walls from a previous 13th century castle, and it's charming enough. Nevertheless, we hightail it over to the Dromoland Hotel, which is a 5-star hotel and golf resort, to treat ourselves to a very fancy lunch. And it's open (thank goodness).

 

On the way home, our last stop for the day is the W.B. Yeats tower. It is, of course, closed.

 

The engraved stone on the outside of the tower -- the only side we get to see -- says:

I the poet William yeats
With old millboards and sea-green slates
And smithy work from the Gort forge
Restored this tower for my wife George.
And may these characters remain
When all is ruin once again.


 

Mead and Mess

Bunratty Castle, Caisleán Bhun Raithe, in County Clare near Limerick, feels both authentic and totally Disneyfied at the same time. This is not a complaint, mind you. It's actually quite a pleasant combination. Here's a place that screams "medieval!" and "country!" yet simultaneously "clean!" and "not smelly!" The current structure is basically a 15th century castle, though it was built, burned, rebuilt, razed, rebuilt, and attacked for about 500 years before that. I'm perfectly happy to miss that particular period of authenticity.

Bringing the medieval Irish authenticity barometer down a notch today is the fact that Bunratty is dressed up for a Halloween celebration. I don't know if the Bobby and old-timey guy in front of the J.J. Corry tabacco shop would always be dressed that way. But, given the quaintness of the folk village that lies in the shadow of the castle, it's a distinct possibility.

 

The highlight of Bunratty for us is the medieval dinner, with period music. Pippa can not believe that we are really going to eat dinner in a castle. Until we actually sit down, she is convinced I am pulling her leg. It turns out that even though there are very few children at the dinner, I think we're the ones who've planned it perfectly. It's a great thing to do with kids this age. They are in hysterics when one of the other guests gets thrown into the dungeon and has to sing his way back to the Lord and Lady's good graces. They even request a visit to the dungeon themselves. They are at that magical age and will believe almost anything, and they really feel like they've gone back in time. A time when busty wenches served ribs that hinted of Southwestern US BBQ followed by fluffy, refrigerated  blancmange desserts.

Along with the live period music, one of the best parts is that forks were not a regular part of dining until one or two hundred years later than the castle's 15th century theme. So the kids get to rip into the chicken and vegetables (as well as the more normal finger foods like ribs and bread) with their hands. In keeping with the times, they are also allowed to stab their food and eat off their knives. So they're not complaining about any small historical anomolies. Look, who am I to gripe about anachronisms, when we bring our daughters to a medieval dinner dressed as a gypsy and a leopard?

 

  

And of course, this being a medieval meal, instead of Guinness or even wine, we have honey mead. This is such a Bunratty medieval dinner tradition that later, when we are in Dublin at a pizza restaurant and the waitress walks up just in time to hear the single word "mead", she immediately asks, "So, did you eat at Bunratty, then?" It's honey wine and so sweet, even my high-school, Bartles-&-James-wine-cooler-loving self would have been happy to down a ceramic mug of it. Here's my honey, drinking the honey.

Despite the festivities today, the kids are counting down the days till the real holiday. More on Halloween, well, on Halloween.

The Art of Guinness

At the Guinness Storehouse in Dublin, we are taught the art of pouring a perfect Guinness:

1) Tilt the glass away from yourself at a slight angle, then pull the handle towards yourself, to aerate. Slowly straighten the glass while pouring, stopping when it reaches midway up the harp icon.
2) Let it sit several minutes and watch it turn from brown to black, as the bubbles settle.
3) Push the handle away from yourself to top it off, till the foam arcs above the top of the glass.

And there you have it. You can take me word for it; I must be an expert, because I have the certificate declaring that I can pour a perfect pint (certificate requirement: steep admission fee and approximately eight minutes of training).


 

The irony, of course, is that as soon as I pour the perfect pint, I give it to somebody else who might actually want to drink it. Not me. I can't stand the stuff. Too bitter, too bubbly. Before you gouge your eyes out with the high level of sacrilege you've just read, I would like to throw my Irish friend Brendan under the bus by telling you he's allergic to Guinness (and wool, too! Oh, the irony!).

The Storehouse used to be the actual place Guinness was manufactured along with a little tour and tasting room. Since my last visit here about 15 years ago, it has transformed into a full-on, state-of-the-art, extremely well-oiled tourist machine. But a fun one, nevertheless. Besides learning about the history of Guinness (including the factoid that the lease on the building is for 9,000 years), how it is made, and how to pour the perfect pint, there's also a bar upstairs with a 360° view of Dublin that can't be beat. Here you are at the top of what is billed as "the world's largest pint glass", since the building is now shaped like one. However, wouldn't a pint glass, by definition, always be the same size? You can ponder that while you head back down to the bottom of the glass, er, building, where there's an extensive gift store that sells, among other things, Guinness-infused chocolate truffles. Speaking from experience, we do not recommend these.

In one perfect village pub, the girls try on Guinness mustaches. That's as close as they want to get.

Despite not drinking Guinness, I am a huge fan, particularly because of the colorful advertising found all around the countryside. Basically, I love being all cozy in a pub with somebody else ordering a Guinness.

 

Center of the Universe

When I was at Breck high school, I had a wonderful history teacher named Mr. Liam Taaffe, now deceased, who could not have been more Irish if he tried. He was a leprechaun of a man: short, pudgy, with graying reddish hair, a twinkle in his eye, and a slight brogue, even in the middle of Minnesota. Despite the fact that the subject he taught was Russian history, he would work into his classroom lectures at every possible opportunity his opinion that Dublin is "the center of the universe." You'd be surprised just how often it's possible to work this into a discussion of the Brothers Karamazov ("What do you think would make Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov less of a miserable character? Is it money? Status? Love? A trip to Dublin, the Center of the Universe?").

  

We start off Sunday morning with a visit to St. Patrick's Cathedral. It's not that we are religious but rather that we assume everyplace else will be closed. As a cultural experience, we even stay for the church service, a sung eucharist (well, we last for the first half, which is the choral singing, but then we bolt before the sermon).

 

While in the Center of the Universe, we check out Trinity College, where we see the gorgeous illuminated manuscripts from the Book of Kells, created ~800A.D.. Right from that sentence, you can pretty much tell this is not the highlight of the trip -- or even day, or even hour -- for the girls. Anthony and I are slightly more mature than the girls, however, so the highlight of our day is when a middle-aged student comes out of his entryway in a barely-there bathrobe and slippers and walks by our tour group very non-chalantly to, presumably, the entryway where the shower is located.

 

                                                                                                                                         photo from: http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/book-of-kells

Frankly, the photo that the girls will be happiest to look back on, especially in about ten years, is the one where they are surrounded by a bunch of hunky Abercrombie & Fitch models standing outside the store for a publicity stunt.



On our first night in the center of the universe, we dine at Gallagher's Boxty House, an institution in the Temple Bar area, especially for tourists. We are tourists, so we can't complain. And it turns out to be good enough that Gigi officially declares it the second best meal of her life -- the first being her dinner in La Dordogne. I wouldn't put this meal nearly that high, but it's enjoyable. A boxty, in case you're wondering, is a potato pancake, which is then usually stuffed. When I first heard this, I imagined a Hannukah-style potato latke with toppings. Instead, it's a regular pancake, made with potato flour. So, let's face it; it's an Irish crêpe.

 

 

                                                                              photo from: http://www.boxtyhouse.ie/gallery/gallery_food_01.html