Day Three - March 9, 2013

We woke up this morning to our first little hint of sunshine!  When we looked out the window, we saw it peaking through the clouds - albeit intermittently, but at least the clouds were peak through-able. 



My Leftie, on Hole 4

We decided to take advantage of the weather and play nine holes of golf in the morning then drive over to the Cliffs of Moher in the afternoon. 

East Clare Golf Village is a modest municipal course about 30 minutes away from our cottage, so we set up a late-morning tee time with them.  The greens weren’t exactly in the best condition and the rental equipment for lefties (poor Ted) was pretty sparse, but we were thrilled to be playing in Ireland. 

The course is a links style, as most of them are over here, and graceful foothills wrap around it on the horizon.  Just off the second tee box, we saw peat drying in the sun.  Peat is partially decayed organic matter that’s been compressed over the millennia.  It can be used as a source of fuel and the Irish have quite a bit of it because it forms in boggy/wetland areas, of which this country has a lot. 

Much of Ireland has been deforested throughout the centuries so firewood is sparse.  Therefore, these 2-foot peat briquettes have been filling the role for decades and the smell of peat burning in fireplaces is quintessentially Irish.


Not much in the way of a surf zone...

We wrapped up our golf game and headed toward the cliffs.  On our way , we stopped in Lahinch, the top surfing destination in Ireland (who knew!).  There, the swells come in from the North Sea so it can get pretty big on this section of coast. 

As soon as we got to the seawall, we saw a line up of about a dozen surfers in the frigid Atlantic.  The waves were peeking pretty close to the beach…which was lined with boulders.  So if you didn’t bail out from your ride in time, you’d have pretty nasty finish to your surf session.


Lahinch and O'looney's in the background

O’looney’s Restaurant, The Wave, was built right on the promenade and had a perfect view of the action.  We stole a seat by the window and watched the madness while enjoying a lunch of seafood chowder and fish and chips in the cozy restaurant. 

Surfing was actually on our list for this trip but the more we talk to the locals, the more it's confirmed that we have WAY over planned.  So we’ve had to make some cuts, a day in Belfast was one, surfing and fly fishing were two others.  Next time friends – we WILL surf the Emerald Isle.

We stopped into the Lahinch Surf Shop  and the owner was a very cool woman who gave us some pointers for board/wetsuit rental companies in town.  After purchasing some t-shirts with the shop logo, we walked down to the shore.  By that point, the swell had died off and most of the surfers were finished for the day, but we got some beautiful pictures of the waves rolling in.

We got to the Cliffs of Moher around 4 p.m. and it was even more beautiful than I thought it’d be.  Before leaving for Ireland, we saw some stunning pictures of the cliffs, but being there with the wind blowing in our faces and seeing the gulls coasting in the updrafts was absolutely breathtaking. 

Looking south along the cliffs

The cliffs rise 700 feet up from the sea and vibrant green grass grows over the tops and down the sides of the rock face.  It was a dramatic sight, and most certainly an unusual one as grass doesn’t usually grow on cliff walls.  Adding to that was the fierce wind, which was swirling the water far below us into massive circles.  



Peeking out through an archway at O'Brien's Tower

We walked north along the cliffs toward O’Brien’s Tower.  It was built in 1835 to serve as an observation tower for tourists.  Cornelius O’Brien, the brains behind the tower, was a progressive who understood the role of tourism in a struggling economy.

Just kidding, mom

Once we passed the tower, the substantial stone wall gave way to a meager path with only a mound of earth separating us from the drop off.
We braved the howling winds that felt like they were going to blow us right off the cliff.  But on the other side of the path was a pasture with precious, fluffy white sheep with skinny black legs.  I want one.

We continued hiking until we ran into a group of Americans who were taking pictures pretty far out on one of the overhangs.  They offered to take our picture (though, we didn’t stand as far out on the slab of rock that will one day fall into the sea, it’s just a matter of time) and we ended up chatting with them for a while.  We compared stories, gushed about the places we had seen, and we all agreed that this was certainly the most picturesque. 

Caution is King

As the sun crept toward the horizon, I told Ted that this is definitely my favorite moment of the trip so far.  While I went to Dublin years ago, it’s this is the kind of landscape I picture when I think of the Emerald Isle.  Green, vibrant, dramatic, and wind swept.  I feel so connected to my ancestral home.

Looking west over the North Atlantic

Day Two - March 8, 2013

At the recommendation of our neighbors back home, we traveled down to Adare, a precious village just south of Limerick.  Thatched roof cottages abound, and yellow daffodils brighten up the modest plots of vibrant green “gardens” (the sweet way in which they describe their yards).

Flanking the road as you enter the town is the Franciscan Friary (on the grounds of Adare Manor) and Desmond Castle.  The neo-gothic Adare Manor was built by the second Earl of Dunvargen in the mid-1800s, which provided labor to the surrounding villages during the potato famine. 



Adare Manor

It has since been converted into a hotel that is both breathtaking and stately.  The manor is surrounded by over 800 acres, much of which is taken up by one of the most stunning golf courses in the country.  The Maigue, a pretty stout river, cuts its way through the 18 holes, which are spread out among ancient stone walls and ruins of the 15^th Century Friary.

The Lebanese Pine on the grounds of the manor

By the bridge over the river stands a Lebanese Pine from the 1600s, making it the oldest pine in the country.  The pool is on the ground floor in a room encased by glass and it looked to have been built in the 1920s, judging by the tile that lined the pool.  I have a thing for old pools (and Ted has a thing for golf) so we made the obvious decision to stay a night or two here during our next trip over…for which our goggles and golf gloves will be packed.

After lunch in a precious little café, we walked around the village.  We went into the Trinitarian monastery, which was built in the 13^th century, then modified and expanded over time.  It too had a thatch roof at one point.


Sunlight filtering through the stain glass windows onto the oak pews

After saying some prayers in the monastery (a tradition of mine whenever I’ve visited an old church), we drove an hour up to Limerick for the rugby game.  When we were in the city center studying our map, a really helpful woman came up and “got us sorted out.”  These seriously are the sweetest people!!  She said we could easily walk to the rugby stadium from there and suggested we take the path along the river. 

Having watched Angela’s Ashes before we left the states, we recognized the areas of the River Shannon where it was filmed.  There were several scenes that were shot on the bank just on the other side.  It looked just like it did in the movie as we were having the same dreary weather that was throughout the movie.

Overlooking King John's Castle on the River Shannon in Limerick

We ducked into a pub for a pint to kill some time before the match.  When we told the bar maid we were going to the game, she had a look of surprise as there was no game scheduled tonight.  The bartender from yesterday must have gotten mixed up but the good news was that a soccer game was scheduled for Sunday!  So that was even better news – Cork City vs. Limerick, also at the new stadium.  We were really hoping to be able to catch a soccer game while we were over here so this is so exciting!

Ironically, we learned yesterday that soccer is actually tied with rugby for Ireland’s third most popular sport.  When we were cleat shopping in the sporting goods store, I chatted up the attendant who was helping Ted.  She said hurling and Gaelic football are actually the sports that kids want to grow up playing and she herself played both for years.  

Hurling sticks - different sizes for players of different heights

Gaelic football is a mix between soccer and rugby and it’s played with something that resembles a soccer ball.  Hurling is played with wooden sticks that resemble a hockey stick with the functionality of a lacrosse stick.  It’s played on a pitch wider than a soccer field and the goal is combination of a soccer goal and American football-style upright posts.  One point is awarded to shots through the uprights, and three points are awarded for shots through the soccer-style goal (which are harder to make as there’s a goalie). 

We heard this was must-see when we were over here, so we were thrilled when the attendant told us there was going to be a county match in Ennis between Clare and Galway (also on Sunday). 

Ennis' hurling uniform in a shop window

Soccer and hurling in one day?!?!  This is better than salt and caramel (that didn’t take long).

Day One - March 7, 2013

What a perfect first day it was!  After a glorious night’s rest, we had some of the fresh baked bread we picked up on our drive over.  Like everything in this country, charm and tidiness prevail, so when we stopped at a gas station last night, they were selling breads, pies, and other goodies that were baked by a local woman.  We bought some spelt bread with pumpkin seeds, which is delicious toasted with some Irish white cheddar.  So after a breakfast of that, with a little Irish Breakfast tea, we were on our way.

In Ennis with the town's cathedral in the background

We stopped into Ennis, an adorable town just up the road, to get a few things from the pharmacy.  As we were walking back to the car, we passed a sporting goods store so we figured we'd peruse the sporty-Irishy stuff and maybe get a jersey.  Well, Ted ended up finding a pair of soccer cleats and the delightful lady who helped him pronounced the brand ah-dee-dahs.  So we weren't just being coy when we pronouced it like that in high school, we were being cultural...

Someone was super excited about his Ah-dee-dahs "boots"

Next it was on to The Burren Smokehouse in Lisdoovarna.  The Burren is a largely undeveloped, protected area of land in western Clare County.  Some of the ancient Celts settled in this area and evidence of their presence is found in several of their structures which remain today.  More impressive though is the Poulna bronedolmen, a tomb still standing from the Neolithic period…we’re talkin’ BC, folks.

The Burren was deforested centuries ago, thereby changing the landscape forever.  Its hillsides are covered in limestone and it’s home to a whole range of wildflowers from subarctic to tropical terrains.  Local artisans use the flowers of the Burren to make honey and jam, which can be found at the smokehouse when in season (www.burrensmokehouse.ie). 

Ted behind the counter with Claudia

This fantastic little place ships their smoked fish and cheeses all around the world, including The White House and 10 Downing Street.  Claudia, the owner – a feisty Irish woman we grew to adore over the hour that we were in her shop – also sells tea cloths, scarfs, jewelry, books, and the like, all made in the region.   We ended up buying one of each to take back as gifts.

After bidding adieu to our first friend of the trip, we walked over the creek into town and found a great pub by the name of McNamarra’s.  Ted ordered the Beef and Guinness Stew, which we were told was a must have (and it was deemed rightfully so) and I chose the smoked fish platter, straight from the smokehouse.  If it’s good enough for the President and the Prime Minister, it’s good enough for me.



1st pint of the trip:
Smithwicks Irish Red Ale

We sat at the bar and had a quintessential Irish pub experience.  The pub owner/bartender held up his promise as being good company.  Turns out he was a rugby player for years, and had the scars to prove it, then traveled the world as a body guard.  He told us we had to see Munster (their regional rugby team) play the following night in Limerick.  Munster is currently ranked at the top in Ireland and holds their own with the internationals, so it would be a big deal to see them play in their brand new stadium....you don’t have to convince us to check out a sporting event.

We headed out from there to explore The Burren and my trusting husband let me drive.  My Achilles heel is unfortunately car sickness when I’m on super winding roads (read: roads you find in Europe).  I never had a problem with this until I moved to Italy where no road is a straight one and they’re usually clogged with vehicles that haven’t met their admission standards in three decades:

For realsies

Once I got into the drivers seat, my nausea subsided – despite getting honked at within the first 30 seconds (#sharetheroad). 

We came across an 18^th century manor that now houses a hotel and restaurant (Gregan’s Castle Hotel).  It was built along the hillside and had stunning views of the landscape and North Atlantic.  For all you L.O.T.R. nerds out there (who I realize can go straight off the acronym), J.R.R. Tolkien stayed there when he was writing the series and the influence of which allegedly came out in his writing. 

C.S. Lewis also stayed in the hotel but (full disclosure) we were just looking for a place to use the bathroom.  As you can imagine, it was a gorgeous lobby and we were very tempted to have tea by the 200-year-old fire place.  However, there was much to see and the helpful young woman at the reception suggested we drive along the coastal road then stop in at the in a Wild Honey Inn for dinner.

In the Burren

The drive was beautiful.  On our left was the rugged Burren landscape and to our right was the opposing North Atlantic and the Aran Islands.  These three barrier islands are built out in succession from the mainland and the only way to get to them is by helicopter or a ferry, which departs from the town of Doolin.  These are the home of the famous Aran sweaters, which are hand woven from wool.  They initially were made on those islands, but the craft has hopped over to the mainland. 

The Wild Honey Inn - Lisdoonvarna

Dinner at the Inn was fabulous.  We sat by the fire and enjoyed a red deer pot pie and a soufflé with goat cheese, arugula, wild mushrooms, and a delicate drops of beetroot puree dotting the rim of the white plate.  For dessert, we had a pot of tea and sticky toffee pudding with salted caramel sauce and clotted cream.  That was phenomenal; I think salted caramel is my new favorite flavor. 

The last leg of the drive home was like something out of Sleepy Hallow.  The winding roads were just barely wide enough for one car, let alone two.  I would have given anything for a tape measure to capture what we’re talking about but just imagine a bike path…with either stone walls or hedgerows on each side.  Not exactly room to skootch over when a car comes.  With no streetlamps, the only way to tell if we were in the center of the road was the strip of green grass busting through the asphalt in the center of the lane.  I kept waiting for Ichabod Crane to come riding up.  If only there were cattails blowing in the wind…



"Ichabod! Ichabod!"

Until tomorrow.

Traveling Mercies - March 6, 2013

So happy when this arrived

We missed our connection and were initially rebooked on the following day’s flight (as there’s only one flight a day to Ireland) but I was able to negotiate a rerouting through Amsterdam – after a dozen or so transatlantic flights, you learn a trick or two.  We arrived 10 hours later than originally scheduled, but we were also able to sweet talk Delta into postponing our return, giving us an extra day in-country.  Score.

Unfortunately, one of our bags didn’t make it into Dublin so we had to wait for the next flight, crossing our fingers that it would be on that one.  Luckily it was, so at 7 p.m. we set out for a drive across this lusciously green island we’ll call home for the next week. 

Now, we didn’t so much get to see that luscious greenness since it was dark and raining as we pulled out of the rental car place into the fast-moving (left-side driving) traffic, and from this point forward it took the full concentration of both of us to find “the motorway” that would take us to the half-way point in our journey.

That was pretty straight forward, but once we exited off onto the local roads, it was quite the wake up for our bleary eyes, which had been open for 36 hours now.  The roads were hilly, winding, dark, and still wet--and it was still raining.  As Ted was negotiating a tight turn on an incredibly narrow “2”-lane road, a garbage truck crested over the hill and was barreling right toward us.

Sheldon Cooper

Oh what fresh hell is this? he asked in typical Sheldon fashion and we each wished we had a rosary to kiss when we made it past the truck unscathed.

As we got closer to the cottage, the directions got pretty shoddy.  My point of contact at the cottage sent directions but they weren’t very clear after we got off the motorway.  Rather than giving actual roads to turn down the directions were, “After you get out of the town a bit, you’ll come across McLellan’s garage (it’s old).  Turn at the next road.  Pass a white farmhouse on one side, and then we’ll be a bit further down from that.”

When that somehow didn’t seem to get it, we drove up into a little village where, thankfully, one of the pubs had a few elderly locals finishing off their last bit of stout.  They recognized McLellan’s and said we’d definitely be able to see it (even though it was dark out and there are no streetlights on these country roads). 

So we drove on a little further, by happenstance saw the darkened garage off the road, and thankfully found the turn.  The white farmhouse wasn’t the best indicator because, again, it was dark, but there was a sign for the cottage nailed to the stone wall bordering the one-lane road (fortunately we didn’t pass any other cars at this late hour).

So alas, after thousands of miles of traveling, we made it to our sweet, sweet cottage in the Irish countryside and stayed up long enough to have Irish cheddar and tea by the stove fire that Ted made.

Níl aon tinteán mar do thinteán féin (there’s no fireplace like your own fireplace)…at least your “own” for the next week.

Homeward Bound - March 5, 2013

A travel blog, something I should have begun years ago, is next on my writing horizon.  In keeping with the retroactive theme of my surf blog, this too will require going back in time (at least initially) to capture some important trips.  I know, I know – who posts stories from the past, way in the past, but some of these things must be captured.  However, the first group of posts (and this one will actually be in real time) is our trip to Ireland.
 

Almost a year has passed since that blessed day when Ted and I said I do, and what better place than the west coast of Ireland to celebrate it?  In addition to our Irish heritage, we got married on St. Patrick’s Day.  Like all brides, I look back on this day as the best one of my life, but I also look back with an immense sense of gratitude for all the blessings we were given. 

We truly had the luck of the Irish throughout the planning process.  In four weeks’ time, we pulled together a beautiful outdoor wedding, complete with a bagpiper and hand-fastingceremony.  The entire celebration was filled with meaning.  A woman in Ireland, who ironically shares our last name, made the binding cord for our hand fasting, and close friends and family made the cake and food (all in the Irish theme, including corned beef and cabbage, Shepherd’s Pie, and Irish stew).  Ted’s sister made the bouquet and boutonnières, as well as the fresh lavender favors, and my brother’s girlfriend made my hair piece and the cake topper. 

Continuing with our family wedding motif, we got married in my parents’ front yard underneath a century-old oak tree.  The azaleas and camellias were in bloom, and the dogwood tree was full of white blossoms.  Even the bunny that was romping around the week before as my mom and I were working in the yard made an appearance.  The day was perfect and we honestly couldn’t have asked for anything more.

 

Coming up to our 1-year anniversary now, we’re crossing the Atlantic under a darkened sky, heading toward the home of our ancestors.  I can’t wait to see what awaits us.