Ireland, part two of two (and a link to photos!)

One adventure we had as a family in Dingle was a search for a pair of pliers. In order to read the meter and pay the electric bill for the cottage, we needed pliers to open the access panel outside the house. A guy in a convenience store directed us to a place that was a combination bar and hardware store. We didn’t quite believe it until we walked into Foxy John’s Bar and Hardware: half bar, half hardware store. The left side of the room was a bar where some locals were quite lit at 10:30 in the morning. The right side of the room was a rabbit warren of cubby holes with all kinds of junk stuffed in them.

The bartender changed hats, so to speak, coming out from behind the bar and going behind the hardware counter. Sure enough, he went right to certain box and pulled out a pair of pliers for about €5. We were saved!

One curious thing I noticed was that as Ann drove around the back roads, every time a car came from the opposite direction, she would raise a finger or two. I asked her about it and she just said, “Country wave”. Gotta love the country wave. There is a certain convention, apparently about the correct use of this salute. Unless you recognize a friend, one or two fingers is sufficient. If you see an acquaintance, a whole hand wave is required.

On our last day in Dingle, we traveled around to see the famous beehive huts, famine houses and an ancient stone fort. After sightseeing, we stopped for an early dinner in Dingle at Ashe’s—turns out someone named Scanlon is the owner. We couldn’t find any “an”s anywhere, but there were plenty of Americans to go around. One sales clerk was from Louisiana, a server was from Bergenfield, and some other tourists on the Fungi boat were from a town a few miles from Parma.

Kathy and I went to Mass on Sunday in the country church in Ballingeary. We were able to walk there fortunately, since there is no parking to speak of. I had been looking forward to that Mass all week. They had five servers: two girls who did all the work, one boy who was on the same side of the altar as the girls, and two little boys who had nothing to do over on the other side of the altar. The Mass was partly in Irish (the prayers and readings) and partly in English (the homily). It was a rather joyless affair, though, with no music at all. It all seemed so …obligatory. We sat near the front, about eight pews back with no one in front of us except two grandparents and five grandchildren. Then there was a no man’s land of about ten empty pews behind us and then about 150 people were jammed into the back of the church.

Our second week, we went ‘round the Ring of Kerry. All this time I thought it was some stone structure we were going to see, but of course it’s rather a string of towns with different sights to see, all around the Kerry area. One highlight was a trip through the Gap of Dunloe, a long winding road through a boulder strewn valley. There was one point in the trip where you had to pass between a kind of Scylla and Charybdis—two big rocks with only enough room for one car.

The absolute best part of the trip for me was a secret visit to Skellig Michael with Peter. We stole away one morning without telling Kathy where we were going. Everyone else know, though. Skellig Michael is a forty minute boat ride out into the Atlantic. Monks lived there beginning a few hundred years after Jesus finished his work on earth. They had to carve hundreds of steps into the stone, leading to the top of this big rock that sticks out of the ocean. They built bee hive huts there and a hermitage. They considered themselves living at the edge of the world, and it certainly seems that way when you are there. I hope you can see the photos on http://www.flickr.com/photos/44964247@N00/.

You had to walk along the edge of the cliff for most of the hike, so it was no place for acrophobiacs. We met one on the way up. She was terrified of crossing a rather wide ledge—actually an easy part of the trip. She did make it to the top eventually and had someone walk her down later. I allowed myself a half hour to get down to the boat, and I just made it. Peter hot footed it down the trail and was the last one aboard.

My knee held up just fine through all of this and then gave out on our last day.

Our last round of sightseeing included the Cliffs of Moher, which we saw both from the top and from a boat (courtesy of Ann). They were very impressive, despite the cloudy weather. Kathy made a new friend, Sean, on the boat. Sean coaxed her out onto the bow and told old jokes to keep her entertained. You can see him in one of the photos.

I have some classic shots of the 5,000 year old portal tomb at Poulnabrone—the last nifty sight we saw on our trip. After that, we headed for Shannon Airport for our last night in Ireland. Ann’s plan worked out very well. In fact, everything she planned for us worked wonderfully well. She was a terrific travel agent, guide, cook, driver, hostess and daughter throughout the whole two weeks.

I’ll leave you with some Irish-isms we heard during the trip:
- In one little town, a woman bent down in front of our car to pick up a coin. She came over to the driver’s side to say, “I always pick up money, because the angels have left it for me.”
- What time does the restaurant open? “When they get there.”
- How do I get to ______________? “Well, I wouldn’t start from here.”