Clonmacnoise

Clonmacnoise monastic site

Ever wonder why there are so many monastic sites throughout Ireland? I could paraphrase Thomas Cahill from a fascinating little book he wrote called How the Irish Saved Civilization, but I won’t. He says it so much better himself. 

Ireland was unique in religious history for being the only land into which Christianity was introduced without bloodshed. And this lack of martyrdom troubled them, to whom a glorious death by violence presented such an exciting finale. They developed their own martyrdom, Green Martyrdom. The Green Martyrs sacrificed their lives to God by leaving behind the comforts and pleasures of human society and retreating into solitude—to a green no-man’s-land outside tribal jurisdictions—to study the scriptures and commune with God.

The Green Martyrdom extremes were quickly abandoned in favor of monasticism, a movement which involved a more social contract, something the Irish found it difficult to live without. Since Ireland had no cities, these monastic establishments grew rapidly into the first population centers, hubs of unprecedented prosperity, art, and learning.

Irish monks began copying religious manuscripts soon after St. Patrick converted the island to Christianity, which was just in the nick of time. Many of the original manuscripts were lost when the Roman Empire crumbled only a century later. So Irish monasteries, with their illustrious libraries, became centers for learning in the Christian world. People traveled here from around the world to study and engage in religious discussion and debate. The two most prolific monastic sites in Ireland were St. Kevin’s at Glendalough (which we visited in the Wicklow Mountains) and St. Cierán’s (Kieran’s) at Clonmacnoise in the Midlands (County Offaly).

Today we visited Clonmacnoise, only an hour’s drive from Galway. I was expecting to find just another collection of ruined stone huts, but I was blown away by the beauty of the site and its surroundings. We hadn’t ventured this far inland on the island. The inland terrain is so delightfully different from that of the coast.

the River Shannon

Most striking is how lush the River Shannon is inland. It’s not at all the dark river we saw tumbling over cold, black rock in Limerick. Here at Clonmacnoise the river swells wide, deep, and blue. The banks are lined with reeds, and every now and then a boat passes peacefully upriver as if it has all the time in the world. How could you not love these impressive stone buildings, round towers, and high crosses set against a background of brilliant blue sky, Irish-green grass, and that gorgeous river?

St. Cierán’s memorial

The hut where St. Cierán, founder of Clonmacnoise, lived and died became his burial place, as was the custom at Clonmacnoise. The hut began to lean because pilgrims would remove soil from its base to take home with them. Spreading a bit of St. Cierán’s earth in the four corners of their fields was thought to yield a more bountiful harvest.

We loved the ruins of this sweet little nun’s chapel just a half-kilometer down the lane. The detail on the stone is like lacework, and those wildflowers springing from stone…. Mm, mm, mm!

The sun will come out

The Shannon River in Limerick

When Marcus and I were researching our trip to Ireland, we watched the film version of Angela’s Ashes, Frank McCourt’s account of his impoverished childhood in Limerick. One thing that was readily apparent from the movie: It rains a lot in Limerick, like all the time. Frank and his brother, Malachy, were always running through Limerick’s streets and alleyways in the driving (horizontal) rain. At one point the rain was so heavy that their family had to abandon the first floor of their home, which they had to wade across to get to the stairs, and live on the upper level. For us, this trip is all about the outdoors. I only booked four nights in the Limerick area.

King John’s 13th-century castle

True to form, the weather was pretty cold, overcast, and wet while we were in the area, which suited my recovery from food poisoning. Apparently I ate something that didn’t agree with my cast-iron stomach in a pub on the beach on the Dingle Peninsula, which made for an interesting (not) transition to our new home-from-home in the Slieve Felim Mountains about ten miles east of Limerick. But every cloud has a silver lining, and this one was a beautiful, light, airy remodeled stable/cottage on property owned by a warm and welcoming Irish couple—a nurse and her husband. It doesn’t get much better than that! My best friends for the next four days were a fleece blanket, a wood stove, and The Bodyguard on Netflix.

one of two gatehouse towers

But eventually I was able to muster the energy to leave our bucolic surroundings and venture into the city. We spent a couple of hours in King John’s Castle experiencing a fascinating interactive exhibit on the role of Limerick’s castle in the incessant Anglo-Irish conflict and having lunch in a wee snug pub on the river. The return to food in general, and pubs in particular, was challenging psychologically, but it’s hard to go wrong with a good, hearty Irish stew on a cold and rainy day. Things are looking up. Who knows? Perhaps the sun will come out tomorrow.

Is that blue on the horizon?

Coffee woes

They get me here!

When we first arrived in Dublin, we noticed a French press coffee maker in the kitchen. Brilliant! We bought ground coffee at the grocery store, and Marcus prepared to brew coffee on our first morning in our new digs. But the French press was broken. He took one look at my mournful, jet-lagged face. “I’ll make it work,” he promised. It wasn’t easy, but he did. (Never travel without an engineer.) 

I messaged the friend of our host* who had checked us in: Coffee maker broken. His reply: No worries! I’ll replace it today. 

*Note: The owner of our apartment was out of town, so she had her friend greet us on arrival, something not uncommon in the Airbnb world.

We were out sightseeing all day. When we returned to the apartment, there was no new coffee maker. Had we missed him? Was he reluctant to enter the apartment without us here? I messaged him. Him: Yeah, my car broke down. Sorry. I’ll deliver it tomorrow. Us: Thanks! Hope you and your car are okay. On our second morning, Marcus managed to work his coffee magic again. That evening a sparkling new French press sat on the kitchen table when we returned home. Us: Thanks so much! Him: No worries! Anything else you need, just ask.

So I was a bit mystified when we checked out a week later and the host sent me a message. Her (not Him): Your incessant demands for a coffee maker were OTT [over the top]!!! I supplied instant coffee for you to drink.

Okay, let’s not even address the “incessant demands” comment and get to the crux of the matter: Instant? Really? Do they even make that anymore?

A few days later I was reading an Irish novel to Marcus in the car (to keep his mind off the single-track roads and blind curves), and I came to a part where the main character, who is British, reflects on the fact that the Irish don’t know how to brew a decent cup of coffee. They just drink instant. Yikes! I didn’t know the protocol. Maybe I did overstep my bounds!

Wait a minute! What about all those coffee shops I’ve seen in every town we’ve visited. I can’t drink caffeine after my two morning cups, so I’ve never tried the shops, but walking past them I smell real, brewed coffee. And then I recalled our visit to Starbucks just hours after we arrived in Ireland, while we were waiting for Tourist Information to open so we could stow our luggage for the day. [Passing time: Dublin, Day 1] I nursed a cup of coffee for an hour while we waited. What I declined to say was that the coffee was so bad I could barely drink it. After an hour, I finally threw it out. And I thought Starbucks would be a sure thing.

We are now the proud owners of an Irish French press. We bought our own. We continue to brew coffee wherever we’re living, and I’m a happy camper. These blogs are powered by Java, in more ways than one!

Haulbowline

Haulbowline Island

We were surprised to see navy ships docked around a small island in Cork Harbour. Turns out it’s Haulbowline Island, the headquarters of the Irish Naval Service, the maritime component of the Irish Defence Forces. Why should I be surprised that the Republic of Ireland has a navy? The country is almost entirely surrounded by water.

the LÉ Samuel Beckett

Current fleet size: 9 patrol vessels, plus several smaller training vessels. Four of the patrol vessels are named after Irish authors. Now, that’s my kind of navy!

the LÉ James Joyce

Major roles (according to Wikipedia): fisheries protection, sea patrol, surveillance, and smuggling prevention.

The owner of our hotel claims that it’s the only navy in the world that comes home every evening for tea!