The Dingle Loop

The forecast yesterday was for rain - quite a lot of it. We geared up and headed out for the 35 km Dingle Loop, which would take us around the peninsula with lots of stops and interesting things to see along the way. Our first stop was Dunbeg, an ring fort built on the cliffs above the sea in the 8th and 9th centuries. It was pouring, but the sheep didn't seem to mind. I'm not sure what it would take to get them to stop eating, actually.


Loretta ducked under the entrance to the fort to wait out the worst sprinkles. I tired to share my cheapie umbrella from Edinburgh with her, but it's too small.


We had a debate over whether these donkeys minded the rain - I thought they looked miserable, huddled together against the wall during the worst of it, but Loretta says if they get miserable because of a bit of rain they'd have a pretty rough life indeed.


A few km past Dunbeg were some beehive huts, built and lived in about the same time as the fort. As instructed by our B&B host, Barbara, we pulled past the first set of huts and stopped at the second, with our few euros in hand to give to Mary, who owns the land. Sure enough, as we walked up her driveway, she appeared out of the door of her old white house - "Hello girls, nice day girls!" - in a quiet voice made quieter by the absence of most of her teeth, and wearing big, bright red sweater. We handed her our €4, she thanked us kindly many times, and told us to watch our heads going in and out of the huts.


The weather had cleared already, and we hiked up her hill, in and out of the huts, and past her horses, including a very brand new foal.




The views from up on her hillside were amazing - I don't think I could even imagine living here and seeing that all the time.


Oh - and movie trivia fact: right down the hill from Mary's place was a location for the filming of Far and Away.

Back in the car, our next major stop was a look out point (and cafe for a snack) over the beach and Blasket Islands, which were inhabited until 1953, and have a very significant place in Irish culture and history. Everyone spoke Gaelic there, and in fact this whole peninsula is still a Gaeltacht, which means that most people speak the language - the street signs can certainly attest to that. People from the big cities send their kids here for the summer to properly learn the language, and indeed we've seen packs of teenagers roaming around town.

The view of Great Blasket island: (there were several big basking sharks in the water, but unfortunately they don't show up in the photo)


And, looking across to the right, the hillside, which still has several abandoned and ruined "Famine Cottages", as this area was hit particularly hard during the Great Hunger - many people here were completely dependent on the potato as a food source and emmigrated, leaving everything behind.


View through a ruined cottage looking out to the sea:


After our snack, we headed down to the beach. By then it was a really nice day - hot even! Some of you may remember the Greece beach picture...here's an Irish version:


Continuing on, we stopped at the Blasket Island Heritage center, an amazingly well done little museum about this small corner of the world. But look who I found amidst all the books of Irish history, poetry, and culture:


Outside the museum, Lo perfected her digital macro skills even further. This is her favorite flower here on the Emerald Isle:


After a final few stops we headed home for the day and some mundane tasks like picking up laundry, dinner at the supermarket (can't go out every night!), and a little TV before bed. Here are a few things that struck us as quirky from the local news: A major report is out: 8,500 9 year-olds were interviewed by researchers from Trinity College, and there were three major findings: Irish children get on well with their mums, are partial to sweets, and show evidence of a growing problem with childhood obesity. Also, big sports news yesterday - there is to be an all-Irish sports event in Dublin's Croke Park in a few weeks, after the big U2 concert. Because of the concert, they're digging up all the sod, and they're planning to replace it with sod imported from England for the sporting event, thus creating the terrible situation of an Irish game not being played on Irish soil. Texts and phone calls expressing outrage were encouraged.

Hitting the Links

Today we drove west from Kinsale until we were as west as we could possibly be and not fall into the Atlantic Ocean - the Dingle peninsula, where we'll be for the next few days. It feels good to unpack a bit and stay a while. Driving has gotten into a regular rhythm - we find that we can each drive for about 2 hours or so before getting tired from all the concentrating, so we switch. We also bought batteries for Loretta's little iPod speakers and are enjoying Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince in the car - fun. Also fun: views like this one, taken while we were driving in to Dingle Town.


After our arrival at Milestone Guesthouse (so named for a standing stone in their front yard that dates back to 2000 B.C.), we settled in and got an orientation from Barbara, who with her husband Michael runs the place. The orientation regarded both the little town here, and the famouse Dingle peninsula driving loop, which we'll do tomorrow. It included a hand-drawn map by Michael and comments like: "Pull into the second car pull-out, go see the stone huts, and a woman named Mary will come down to talk to you. It's her land, so give her a few euros before you walk around. You'll like her, she's a hoot".

After a nap, we wandered back down the road to the local Pitch and Putt, which was a new thing for me - brand new, since my former experience with golfing was at the Golden Tee in Castro Valley. A nice young woman took our €7 each, and her little brother came running in with a big smile and gave us each a putter and another club - wedge? chipper? Haha, I don't know (and Loretta's asleep, or I'd ask). We headed out to an incredibly scenic set of 18 little holes, and my golf education began. Good thing I was learning from a master:


Actually, our first shots off the tee on hole 1 were both so hilariously awful that the little boy, who was hanging out with a few friends and watching, said "Ach, ladies!" and gave us a bit of hard time. Then a few seconds later he came running up urgently with our score card, which he'd forgotten to give us, flashed a peace sign, and ran away. Funny kid.


We wound our way through the little course, as the weather went from delightfully sunny to cloudy with fat drops of rain, this being Ireland after all. Final score: Lo: 82 Erin: 92.

"A Day for Ducks"

That's how our host here at The Olde Bakery B&B described the weather, and it was indeed. It was misting when we left Cashel, which turned to pouring on and off until about 4 pm. At one point here in Kinsale, we were so soaked despite our rain coats and umbrellas that we had to admit defeat and walk back to our room to change clothes and try again later. Here I am at the door, about to set off the second time:


But let's go back in time for a minute. (Not too far, just to this morning). As we finished our breakfast in Cashel, trying to hurry to make it to a walking tour in Kinsale that started at 11:15, our B&B host Joy asked us where we were headed and what we were doing that day. Too polite to say we were in a rush to get to the tour (and too afraid that would sound oh-so-American, rushing around even on vacation), we let her take us into her kitchen and show us a planned route on her own map. She even wrote out directions for "her" route to us, and said "t'would be a pity to come all this way and not really see Ireland" - so we scrapped the tour and set out on her scenic route instead. First lovely discovery was a little woods where we went for a small hike.


Then, feet and lower pants legs soaked, we hopped back in the car to drive through the delightfully-named Knockmealdown Mountains, (not as high as these, surely, but put me in mind of them) with views like this misty one:


We drove on, mostly on smaller roads rather than main highways, through dark avenues of tall trees arching over the road, past horse farms, and groups of sheep, pulling over often to let the faster and more experienced Irish drivers go ahead. We were glad to arrive here in Kinsale at last, and happy for the slower (and prettier) road taken.

But boy was it raining. On our first foray into town, we managed a few shops and the grocery store. One shop in particular was chock full of handmade souvenirs such as this auspiciously-named line of goods. I haven't purchased yet, but I may...


And we ducked into a little chocolate and ice cream shop on the way back home, eschewing ice cream, of course, in favor of the best hot chocolate I've ever, ever had:


Mine had a splash of hazelnut in it, and both came with a side of milk, dark, and white chocolate chips. We spent a lot of time saying things like Yum!, Wow!, and congratulating ourselves for this particular choice of activity.

By the time we went back out for dinner, the rain had cleared and it wasn't too cold. We finally made it down to the harbour:


Historical tidbit of the day: Kinsale is known for it's natural harbour - the best one in Ireland. And it was just off the coast here, in May of 1915, that a German U-boat torpedoed the ocean liner RMS Lusitania, precipitating the U.S. entry into WWI. (Did you know that controversy still surrounds the incident?)

Tomorrow we head to the Dingle peninsula after breakfast, where we'll stop and relax for a few days. One more photo - smiling because we're so happy it's not raining at the moment!

"Erin - what a lovely Irish name!"

Greetings from Ireland! (As for the title of this post, I was quite pleased to have both of the owners of the B&B say that about my name upon meeting me. Quite pleased. Loretta, on the other hand, was quite rolling her eyes.)

After an early morning rise, bus, and plane ride, I arrived back in Dublin airport safe and sound. One more kind mentionis due of Erlend at the B&B in Edinburgh, who got up at 6 am to make me scrambled eggs with goat cheese and marjoram, tea, and toast, even though I tried to insist it wasn’t necessary.

Loretta was ready and waiting with the car hire, and we headed as quickly as we could out of the city. Our destination for the day was the Rock of Cashel, which is about 2 hours drive southwest of Dublin. Various Irish folks we talked to today called the weather “blustery”, which they said with an almost apologetic tone. The blustery quality of the weather was a constant, but not unpleasant quality of the whole day.

Here’s our view of the Rock from our very cheery B&B room:


After Lo had a much-needed nap, we headed a few steps up the hill to the Rock, which is a collection of various ruins – a castle, cathedral, guard tower, and chapel. Lots of history, including a legendary story about St. Patrick around the year 600, who came to baptize the heathen king who lived on the rock at the time. During the baptism, St. Patrick placed his pointed staff accidentally on the king’s foot, and proceeded to lean on it, stabbing the poor guy. Being a heathen, the king endured it silently for the rest of the ceremony, assuming one had to bear this kind of pain in order to become a proper Christian.

The view from the Rock looking out across the Plain of Tipperary, some of the most fertile land in Ireland.

Another in the digital macro series - this was just a regular old snail on a stone wall in the chapel,
but even the snails here are charming...

After seeing the sights on the Rock, we wandered across a field or two to a ruined abbey below, which was remarkable for its sheer lonely abandonment. There was a gate or two (below is Loretta using the anti-sheep entrance device), but other than that nothing. No signage, no warnings about climbing on the ruins or else, no one charging even a Euro or two to see it. The ancient building is just allowed to be as it is, or as it crumbles, a natural part of the town and the landscape. And the views of the Rock from it were amazing.

Done with the historical portion of the program, we wandered into town. Lo found an ATM, I bought a small notebook from a kind older woman with a gruff smoker’s voice who runs the only office supply store in Cashel. We mentioned we were looking for an early dinner place, and she recommended the restaurant a few doors down where she’d had lunch that day, so on we went. We saw the waitress bring two steaming bowls of soup and homemade brown bread to the girls at the table next to us, which didn’t appear on the handwritten menu stuck up on the wall, so we just asked for that. It turned out to be a thick and yummy vegetable soup, and in guessing the ingredients we came up with celery, squash, carrots, onions, potatoes, and perhaps turnips. Quite filling, and great on a day like today.

It’s been a low key evening – TV and cribbage here in the room, Lo’s fallen asleep on account of the jet lag, and I’ve been watching a small group of sheep in the stone-walled pasture across the street. They’ve just now stopped eating and gathered to lay down in a huddle for the night. I think I’ll turn in as well. Oh, and here's a little study in how we two differ in our traveling styles:

Farewell to Scotland

I've loved it here. Of course, I've loved a lot of places that I've traveled to, except poor Thessaloniki in Greece. There have been a few that I thought I'd love to come back to for a longer stay at some point...and now Scotland is definitely on that list.

Because it's beautiful? Of course. It's so beautiful. But so are the Rocky Mountains and the Pacific Ocean.

Because of the great exchange rate and cheap accommodations? Um, nope.

Because of the rich historical legacy, and how passionate Scots are about their own history? I love that, of course.

Because of the food? Well, honestly the food was great, aside from the mediocre french meal I had on my first night. Fresh, organic stuff, hearty and tasty, lots of delicious baked goods.

Because of Iona alone, I would come back here. In fact, I really hope to. But in addition to that and the other reasons listed above, I just really liked the people. Often, when traveling, I find that all my various interactions with people add up over the days or weeks to a general feeling about a place. Perhaps it's not fair, perhaps it's inaccurate, but we all get impressions about things based our our experience, don't we? My first trip to Paris, my bumbling attempts to speak high school French led to so many embarrassing and impatient moments that I left feeling that I agreed at least a little with the Parisian stereotypes. I had so many open, friendly, easy interactions with folks in Amsterdam that I've often thought about going back there for more than three days next time. And here in Scotland, people were friendly, yes...but more than that, they were kind. The bus driver, B&B owners, ferry guy, fellow drivers, and so many more, went out of their way to help, direct, advise, and unabashedly and enthusiastically brag about what they liked most about their little corner of the world. Most of these folks were of course in the hospitality industry; perhaps it's all to be expected. But in any case, as I leave here tomorrow, I'll feel a little sad, and very hopeful that I'll be back someday.

Here are a few photos from our last day:

Bannockburn. Today, a grassy field where people run their dogs.
In the year 1314: A bloody battlefield littered with 10,000 English and Scottish fighters, after Scotland's amazing victory over the superior and better-equipped English force. I could go on, but I'll spare you the nerdiness.

Too bad it's 700 years too late, I'm sure I could have held my own as a Scottish spearwoman.

A final cheers, and my first whiskey here. Smooth going in, like fire going down.
I eschewed the ice cube option and only coughed quietly once.
Sticky toffee pudding later helped it all feel better.

On the road

Urquhart Castle, on the shores of Loch Ness

We did in fact spend most of yesterday on the road. And except for the busier highway we took along the shores of Loch Ness to get here to Inverness, most of the driving consisted of cruising along single track roads, which has a rhythm of its own. See approaching car, flash lights if you're going to pull over, or if they flash their lights, you keep going and give a friendly wave as you pass. From my very informal survey, I'd put the percentage of folks giving the friendly wave at at least 85%.

Loch Ness is very narrow, very deep, and very long. We drove along it for what seemed like a long time before finally arriving in Inverness. And, with the foggy, gloomy weather, the whole drive was very atmospheric.

View from the restaurant where we had a delicious Indian dinner.
After, we walked a loop around the river Ness.

We've just had another quite heavy breakfast - including my first taste of haggis, upon which I pronounce thumbs up. And now back to the road - this time fast roads back to Edinburgh and our last day in Scotland.

Iona

Sometimes during travels, nothing goes right. Missed connections, delayed trains and planes, lost items, destinations that are less than one was hoping for. Today was not one of those days; in fact, today was pretty perfect.

This morning was a bit of a rush. We decided at the last minute to try to get our car on the ferry to Mull, since it would eliminate waiting around for a bus. We knew it would be tricky without a reservation, and indeed when we pulled up and talked to the ferry guy, he said it might not work out...but directed us to a long line of stand-by cars to wait and try our luck. If we didn't get on, the next ferry was also completely booked, so our whole itinerary was hinged on this working out.

The ferry pulled up, the walking passengers boarded, all the non-stand-by folks drove on, the trucks, the tour buses...and then they started letting stand-by folks on, one by one. All the cars in front of us made it. Then, we heard the guy down at the loading zone tell the guy about to take our tickets to hold up - no more cars. Someone has to be the first one not to make it...but we were so disappointed. Then, the loading zone guy looked up and saw us, and must have remembered our conversation. "Go ahead," he told the ticket-taker, "I want to get these girls to Iona today". Hooray! We drove down, and after a bit of rearranging, squeezed ourselves into the teeny little spot. Last car on. I'm so thankful for they guy who helped us out - and may I say, this type of kindness and consideration has cropped up so many, many times here in Scotland. Here's what it looked like after I parked:


The ride to Mull is pleasant, about 45 minutes long, and full of castle views. Here's Duart castle, which we toured when we got on the island, since it was on our drive to the other end of Mull where we could catch the ferry to Iona.


The drive across the island was beautiful - and the single track roads were much easier to navigate than I thought they'd be. See a car coming? Whoever has the first opportunity to pull over does so, and then as you pass you give each other a thumbs up or a friendly wave. See a sheep or goat? Well, if you're a local, ease on by. If you're a tourist from California, pull up and snap some photos:


After about an hour, we pulled up, parked for free overnight, and hopped on the 10 minute ferry to Iona. You can see the abbey from the opposite shore:


Our hotel was also just right on the shore, in fact here's a shot from our bedroom window:


We checked in, and meandered over to the abbey. People have lived and been in religious communities on this island since the 6th century, which is about when this cross dates from:


After a good long look through the buildings, I walked out to the little field in between the abbey and the shore. Donica finds my whole "sheep are cute!" mentality strange, but she took a picture for me anyway:


Much later, after a delicious and very Scottish dinner at the hotel restaurant, I went out for another walk. It was just beginning to get dark, at about 10:15, but not too dark for a picture of the main "road" of the town:


I took a little video, which I'll post here, but must warn you of a mistake...I accidentally call the island across the water "Oban" instead of Mull - Oban is the little town we stayed in last night. Whoops.



And in closing, I'll just say that this island is the most peaceful place I think I've ever been. There is a very very close second on a little farm in Tuscany, but Iona has an extra quality that pervades the atmosphere and stills the mind and soul. I wish it weren't so far away from my real life.