We're Number One!

We have visited the #1 most-visited site in Ireland! At least five of them!

The Guinness Storehouse in Dulbin claims to be the most visited tourist site in Dublin and, as my Irish friend Brendan points out, they have the turnstyles at the entrance to count the proof. On the other hand, the Cliffs of Moher have existed and been famous for, well, millenia. So they have a pretty good claim, too, especially if you think of it as cumulative. The Blarney Castle claims #1 status; it's a cliche practically, but with steady streams of visitors for the past two hundred plus year, it seems vaguely plausible.

Even the Kylemore Abbey, which is remote, built in the 19th century, and only recently opened claims, to be the #1 visited site in West Ireland, in which the Cliffs of Moher and Blarney Castle are also located; clearly it does not stand a chance of actually being the #1 most visited site anywhere (except at Kylemore Abbey itself. Slogan: "Kylemore Abbey's #1 most visited site is...Kylemore Abbey!")

This morning, leaving our B&B in the coastal town of Kinsale, we stop at Fort Charles, where we discover it's the women who are No. 1. A stone placard makes it official. Yeah, women!

 

 

And then there is the Rock of Cashel, which you've probably never heard of unless you are really familiar with Irish history, but which, nevertheless, claims to be the most visited tourist site in Ireland this past year. I must say that this seems like the most dubious claim of all, and methinks somebody here has kissed the Blarney stone one too many times. The guide boasts that the new found popularity is due to the visit of Queen Elizabeth II and Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh in May 2011.

 

 

queen/prince photos from www.zimbio.com

The good news for us is that while there is, frankly, not a snowball's chance that the Rock of Cashel is Ireland's most visited tourist site -- and we're here at low season on top of it all, so we practically have the place to ourselves -- it is at the very least a worthwhile stop. Even if one is not wearing a fetching hat.

The mostly 12th- and 13th-century remains were once the traditional seat of the Kings of Munster. The history of the place goes back before that to the 5th century, when it was the site of the original conversion of the first King of Munster by St. Patrick, himself, thereby bringing Christianity to Ireland.

Though legend has it St. Patrick rid Ireland of snakes, it turns out Ireland never actually had a snake problem, and that this is probably more metaphorical (meaning, he rid Ireland of paganism). We also learn the origin of the shamrock as a symbol of Ireland; it was here that in order to explain the tenets of Christianity, St. Patrick was supposed to have picked up a clover and showed how out of one stem (religion) came three leaves (Father, Son, Holy Ghost).

 

Traditions with this very old Celtic cross (actually, because of the deterioration, as you can see, the original has been moved inside and an equally-deteriorated facsimile has been left outside). Anybody who can hop around it in 9 hops (or is it 7?) will be married within the year. Naturally, the girls try and, I am happy to report, only get about 10% of the way around in 9 hops. So we're safe till they hit the double digits. Also, the reason Pippa is hugging it is because legend has it that anybody who can hug and get their arms to touch around the backside will never suffer from hangovers. I think it's a bit premature for the girls to be worrying about marriage or hangovers, but the Rock of Cashel is a wild and rockin' place. It's practically Las Vegas, as you can clearly see.

The cemetery outside the church ruins had a burial just last week, but there will only be a handful more. About 50 years ago, they decided that only people living in the area at that time whose parents were buried here could sign their name into a book and have the right to be buried here themselves. After that, no more descendents could ever claim this right. Over the years, of course, those whose names are inscribed have been buried here, with just a few remaining.

 

 

It's a beautiful place to be buried, with a stunning view over the sheep-filled fields and, of course, in the shadow of Ireland's number one most visited tourist site.

 

Dingle

The thing to do from Killarney is to drive around the Ring of Kerry. But the truth is, the Kerry peninsula drive is scenic on a large scale, in every sense. You need clear skies to see far to get the most of the long drives whose main purpose is the view. So instead, we do the Dingle drive. First of all, I love the name. Any place named Dingle already has points in my book.

Also, the Dingle Peninsula is more compact so it's quicker, even though it's further from Killarney. The scenic aspects are close in, and there are more places to stop, see specific sites (and sights), and get out and stretch. Dingle does not disappoint. I don't know if Anthony or the kids feels it, but there is something magical about this place to me.

  

We get down from the cliffs to sea level so the girls can touch the Atlantic, their first time from this continent.

The peninsula is filled with antiquities, more even than the Ring of Kerry. One of the greatest things about this place is that it is a treasure trove of ancient sites. The ancients used what they had -- stones -- and some of the excellent and enduring stonework (corbelling, tilting down and out for rain runoff but stacked without mortar) reminds us a little of of the mastery you see in Peru. The first place we visit is Dunbeg (Dún Beag) Promontory Fort. Through carbon dating, the experts estimate use of this site as early as the 5th century, being regularly inhabited by the 10th century. It's hard even to put that in context for the kids, but all we can tell them is to go by our family benchmark: "It's about twice as old as Notre Dame Cathedral." Anthony is often our source of information; he likes to read all the placards, even as the rest of us are running for shelter.

 

 

  

 

Our second stop is one of the many famous beehive huts that dot the coastline. This one, specifically, is called Cathair na gConchúireach. And no, I can't tell you how to pronounce that. It was said to have been built and inhabited somewhere up to 1200 AD, so somewhere around 1000 years old, or more.

 

Taking a break from the on-and-off rain, on-and-more-on wind, car, and ancient buildings, we stop at Louis Mulcahey pottery shop and café, where we have delicious warm soup (the girls say -- correctly? -- that the various Irish soups we've eaten are, on the whole, the best they've ever tasted), hearty brown bread, hot chocolate with marshmallows, and a chance to relax. We buy some books, and the girls read up on their Irish tales. Also, before Anthony or I can exactly realize what's going on and stop them, they manage to yell out some dirty Irish limericks from across the room.

 

 

This is where I buy my new cheese tray, a platter-sized version of the bread plate above. Luckily, it survives the trip better than the stone cheese platter I bought in Morocco. Here's a sneak peak (flash forward to Paris) at how amazing my Louis Mulcahey pottery looks hosting a bunch of French cheeses:

And back to ancient Ireland. Now warm and well fed, with a few fun souvenirs in the car, we head out to visit the virtually perfectly preserved Gallarus Oratory; that's preservation, not renovation. It has looked like that, if you believe the official information, for the past 1300 years. As a sudden, brief downpour hits while we're there, I can tell you form experience that it is, in fact, still completely water-tight. There are two stone loops to tie up a curtain of some sort over the door, and while the wind and rain rage outside, we imagine how cozy it would have been with a fur or wool curtain, and perhaps a small fire inside (would they have had fires inside? Or would that be too smoky? In my clearly romanticized view of the ancients, there's a fire to keep us warm, but it ventilates well. Oh, and we have modern clothing, shoes, food, shampoo, and medicine).

One small detour to see Kilmalkeader, a 12th century church.

 

Woman of letters that I am, I absolutely love the two ancient language stones here. On the stone pictured below, called an Ogham pillar, the notches are actually an ancient form of phonetic writing, used to write Archaic Irish, Old Welsh and Latin between the 4th and 7th century AD. This one says "ANM MAILE-INBIR MACI BROCANN" ("the name Mael Inbir, son of Brocan"). Do you notice the "Maci" in there that means "son of"? As in MacDonald, McNeill, etc. The system itself looks like chicken scratches, and is way too complicated for me to absorb and explain. If you're really curious, check out this explanation.

  

 

The American part of me that's used to everything of historical value being roped and sealed off feels a little bad that Pippa is leaning against the pillar. On the other hand, it's been sitting in a still-used cemetery in the open, under the Irish rain, for nearly two thousand years, so perhaps this is really the least of it.

Another pillar in the churchyard contains the Roman alphabet, and is said to be from the 6th century or earlier. The assumption is that it was used as a teaching tablet. It stands vertically, but I've put it on the horizontal and enhanced the contrast it to try to make the letters more visible.

 

Anthony, man of science that he is, prefers the following stone, which is an ancient sundial. Yes, we see the irony in this, too, given we are in Ireland and on a very typically overcast, rainy day. More than that, the hole in the rock is not carved all the way through, as you can see from the backside. So it does beg the question, how could it have worked? We can't interpret the carvings, but find them lovely nonetheless.

 

 

It's too cloudy, and we will be too carsick, to go over the famous Conor pass, so instead we retrace our steps along the officially less scenic (but still spectacular) and drastically more efficient road back to Killarney, where we're staying for a couple nights. Along the way, we stop at a little aquarium in the town of Dingle for what will be our last hoorah for the day. With very low expectations, we are, frankly, pleasantly surprised. It's a great way to give the girls something that's a little more kid-friendly. It's actually quite an impressive aquarium, out here in a tiny town, on a tiny peninsula, in a tiny country. 

 

 

  

 

There are a couple signs that tickle my fancy here. One, on the piranha tank:

 

But my favorite is the sign on the petting tank. Check out rule #4: "Avoid the Thornback Ray's Spine. It has THORNS on it's back." Woman of letters that I am, my pet peeve is not that they unwisely stuck a thornback spine into a children's petting tank, but rather that they incorrectly stuck an apostrophe into the "it's".

 

 

The one thing we don't stop for on our tour is "world-famous" home-made Dingle ice cream. Mostly because we are too cold, and partly because living on Ile St. Louis, near "world-famous" Berthillon, we get a whole lot of ice cream in our lives already. When I wonder aloud what the local specialty flavor might be, Anthony answers, "Of course...it's Dingleberry!" Really, I just walked right into that one.

 

 

 

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!