Making way while the sun shines

Posted on June 18, 2019 by Cindy

Ballintoy village from Carrick-a-Rede cliffs

We never had any intention of walking across the rope bridge at Carrick-a-Rede, so we almost skipped the sight altogether. Heights are not our thing, especially on a 66-foot length of flexible surface suspended between two large rocks 98 feet above the North Atlantic. But we thought we’d stop by to watch others take the challenge. We had walked out to the Giant’s Causeway that morning, and then had a nice lunch in the town of Bushmills. (No, not a liquid lunch.) The sun was still shining gloriously when we emerged from the restaurant. We needed to be outdoors.

Carrick-a-Rede (pronounced Carrick-a-Reedy) is from Scottish Gaelic, Carraig-a-Rade, meaning “rock in the road,” the “rock” being a plug blown out of a volcanic vent 60 million years ago and the “road” being the sea route for Atlantic salmon on their westward journey past Carrick Island off the northern coast of Ireland.

Over 350 years ago fishermen began to set their nets in the salmon-rich waters around Carrick Island, but they needed a way to check on them without having to launch a boat into the turbulent Atlantic each time. So they strung a rope bridge across the gap between mainland and island to give them access to their nets. (Though I can’t imagine crossing a flimsy bridge during hazardous weather conditions on the North Atlantic any more than I can imagine taking a boat out in it.)

Rathlin Island on left, near background; Scotland on right, far background

Fishermen no longer use the rope bridge, as there is no wild salmon in this part of the Atlantic anymore, so the bridge has become a tourist attraction—of the extreme sort. One source has it that there are some people who cross it once, and refuse to walk back across it. They have to be rescued from the island by boat.

Rule #1: Never partake in an activity where a defibrillator may be required.

The walk out to the bridge (on solid road) was spectacular—some of the best weather we’ve experienced lately and some of the most beautiful landscape. The Antrim Coast is every bit as gorgeous as the western Atlantic coast of Ireland.

today’s rope bridge is substantially stronger than past bridges

Great day to be outdoors. Great day to watch crazy tourists get their adrenaline rush for the day.

in the far distance, Fair Head, the northeast corner of Ireland

Slipping over the border

Posted on June 7, 2019 by Cindy

The day promised to be wet and windy, like 25 mph windy. But despite the horizontal rain we had in the early morning, it was relatively calm and dry as we checked out of our Airbnb and started our trek to Northern Ireland. We thought we’d squeeze in a sight or two, as long as the weather held. Our first, Horn Head, was only ten miles north, on the northern coast of Ireland, but by the time we got there the wind had picked up again. Or maybe we were just more exposed on this cliff 600 feet above the Atlantic. I was afraid to stand too near the edge, the wind was that strong. And then the rain started. I opted to shift my vantage point to the warmth of the car.

An Grianán, one of those cool, circular Stone Age forts on a hill overlooking Lough Swilly, was our second stop, an easy forty miles closer to our destination. Lough Swilly is another one of those Irish fjords [Irish fjords], this one much longer and wider than Killary Harbour.

The wind at the top of the hill was ferocious. Jackets whipped liked sails in a tempest. Hair plastered to faces making it difficult to see. The temperature plummeted. I watched tourists trying to take photos in the elements. I just didn’t have it in me to get out of the car. Marcus found a parking spot overlooking the lough, and that’s where we enjoyed our English picnic. [Going local] One of the best views on a picnic so far, and no chasing sandwich wrappers and napkins across the car park.

As we drove down the hill from the fort, I entered the address of our Derry Airbnb into the SatNav (car navigation system). ETA: 15 minutes. What? That can’t be right. We’re still in Ireland. I looked up and saw a line on the road about fifty feet in front of the car, where the pavement was darker and smoother. I laughed. “I bet that’s the border.” Sure enough. No border control, not so much as a sign, just more cow pasture and white cottages. The few cars we encountered on this little slip of a farm road now had UK plates.

“Welcome to the United Kingdom!” I said to Marcus.

Anti-climatic? Not at all. I hope that’s as much of a border as there will ever be between these two countries. And is it too much to hope that one day there is no border at all, physical or otherwise?

Glenveagh National Park

Posted on June 5, 2019 by Cindy

Fifty-eight degrees outside, no rain, although it’s pretty overcast. No wind to speak of. We’re going to Glenveagh! And just in the nick of time. Tomorrow our Glenveagh weather window slams shut as we head into Northern Ireland, and it’s bye-bye to the Republic until it’s time to fly home in a few weeks. We spent two long, wet days trying to keep ourselves busy in an area where there’s not much to do indoors. But we are very fortunate in our extended travels to have time to sit and wait for the weather to improve. I’d rather bide my time indoors than hike in the rain.

Glenveagh is our fifth national park of the six in the Republic. We won’t get to the sixth, unfortunately. We bypassed it in County Mayo on our way through. A bit too remote to get to easily and nothing much to say for itself.

Many of the loughs (lakes) and rivers here in Ireland don’t have banks per se. The land adjacent to them is relatively flat and is therefore easily flooded, especially after a good rain. Lough Veagh, on the day we visited, occasionally nudged our path from the visitor’s center to Glenveagh Castle.

a wet, woolen blanket of moss and lichen

The moss and lichen were so full of rainwater from the past two days that they dripped steadily where they overhung the rocks.

Glenveagh castle was built in the early 1870s by Irishman John George Adair whose money came from risky land speculation in the US. After making his fortune, he and his American wife settled in Ireland. They fell in love with the landscape around Lough Veagh, after visiting the area, and started buying land. The castle was meant to rival Queen Victoria’s Scottish castle Balmoral, although it’s much smaller.

By late afternoon, rain was threatening again. As the wind picked up, it smoothed the surface of Lough Veagh like icing on a cake.

So good to get some fresh air and stretch our legs today—finally!

Getting out

Posted on June 4, 2019 by Cindy

Fifty-six degrees outside, non-stop rain, wind gusts up to 20 mph. Day Two of sitting out the rain.

No fire today. We almost depleted our host’s supply of coal yesterday.

I’m getting antsy. Time to get out of the house. We need one thing at the store. We plan our day around it.

We drive to the store. Buy what we need. Nothing new on the shelves since yesterday….

We check out the weekly farmers’ market even though we don’t need fruit or veg.

We discover a 2€ store (like our dollar stores) on the corner. We walk up and down the aisles looking at everything. We buy a pack of ginger snaps.

Back outside in the rain. We ask a vendor at the farmers’ market if he can recommend a good pub in town. The Shamrock Inn. Great. Thanks. Cheers!

People in Donegal are very friendly, much more so than anywhere else we’ve been. Every local who strays into the pub greets us. We see a guy get off a bus outside the pub and come in. This guy—let’s call him Paddy—is obviously a regular. Everyone in the pub knows him, and he has his regular seat at the bar. (The guy who had been sitting there got up and moved as soon as he saw Paddy come in the door. Maybe we should call him Norm.) Paddy tells Marcus that he lives in Dunfanahy, a slightly larger village ten kilometers away. Apparently their pubs don’t open until 3:00, so he takes the bus over to avail himself of a pub that opens at noon. Every day? We don’t ask, but I’m guessing the answer is yes.

Paddy informs the pub that today is Clint Eastwood’s 89th birthday. Marcus proposes a toast to Clint. Toasting all around.

After about an hour of chit-chat, Paddy gets up. Time to catch the bus back to Dunfanahy. He walks over to our table and presents us with a bag of Tayto crisps (potato chips). He tells us they are the best in Ireland, and he wants to give us a gift from Ireland. I almost cry, it’s so genuine and sweet. I sniffle into my Tayto bag and think of my great-grandmother who lived just 40 miles from where I sit but emigrated in 1851 during the Great Potato Famine. What would she make of Taytos?

We go home and fold a load of laundry. Immediately the walls of the cottage start to press in.

But! Today is Friday, and the pizza restaurant opens at 5:00. I check email, again. Play a couple of games of solitaire. At 5:00 we’re standing at the door with raincoats on.

There’s a parking spot right outside the restaurant, welcoming us. A sign at the curb: Trad Music tonight 6:00. Traditional Irish folk music. This is a really big deal, and not just for tourists. The Irish love their trad music. We walk in and score the last empty table in the place. Marcus orders pizza and beers while the pub fills up with locals. SRO. We settle in for some good ol’ Irish craic (fun). Things are looking up!

Let’s see what tomorrow brings.

Holing up

Posted on June 3, 2019 by Cindy

Fifty degrees outside, non-stop rain, wind gusts up to 25 mph. We’re in Falcarrick (Falcarragh, in Irish, meaning The Crossroads, and that’s about all it is) in northern County Donegal for three full days. Our solitary goal: to spend one day at Glenveagh National Park. The other two days are weather buffer. Turns out, we may need them.

Day One of sitting out the weather: Marcus made a nice coal fire in the fireplace to keep us toasty all day. Removing slippers and socks for yoga practice is now possible. Yoga in front of the fire. Sounds cozy, doesn’t it? By the end of our practice, I am sweating profusely. Does this qualify as hot yoga?

A day off every now and again is a good thing. Even though we just took one three days ago, also because of the weather? In the deluge in the southern part of County Donegal. Waiting for an opening in the weather window so we could hike Slieve League. We eventually prevailed, but it was our last day in the area. That’s cutting it a little close. If the weather hadn’t cleared, would we have hiked it in the rain? I don’t think so.

And now we wait in northern County Donegal. I pay the bills. Do laundry. Start this blog. Send some emails. Read a little.

Marcus goes out for pizza. He drives ten kilometers to the only pizza restaurant in northwest Donegal. It’s only open Friday through Sunday. Today is Thursday. On the way back he stops by the grocery store, which is smaller than most 7-Elevens. Buys some steaks and salad fixings. Cooks at home.

Overall, Mother Nature has been very generous with us on this trip, as long as we’re patient and don’t demand perfect weather on any given day. She appreciates a window and has, so far, complied. The rain is now blowing sideways. It looks like we may lose this one.

Let’s see what tomorrow brings.

If I lived in Ireland…

Posted on June 1, 2019 by Cindy

…this would be my backyard. I just love this rugged terrain. Big, wide rocks almost submerged in the wild grass, scrubby gorse, vibrant rhododendrons, and dainty wildflowers. The front yard would be neat and trim, like any self-respecting Irish cottage. And the back would be mayhem.

This is the view I’d see out my back window each day. I’d stand and gaze at it for awhile, cup of coffee in hand, and then, unable to resist any longer, I’d grab my jacket and go out in it. The moodier the weather, the more dramatic the landscape. And on sunny days, I’d eat a picnic lunch in those ruins.

We had a nice little walk today in the almost-rain along a rails-to-trails path in Burtonport (Ailt an Chorráin—don’t ask, my Irish is not that good), County Donegal. We were in between cottages, having checked out of our snug little stay on the north shore of Donegal Bay, near Slieve League Mountain. Up next, a remote little village in the northwest corner of County Donegal, near Glenveagh National Park—our last Airbnb in the Republic.

This is what peat looks like after brick-sized slices have been cut out of the bog. They’re left out on the grass to dry in the sun, then stored to use in the fireplace during the winter. From muck to fuel. Very resourceful. We’ve grown accustomed to the smell of a peat fire, but it does take a bit of getting used to. It smells a wee bit medicinal to me. (Have you tasted a peaty whisky? Tastes a bit like Bactine smells, doesn’t it? Yeah, not to my taste.) Most Irish people love a good peat fire because that’s what they’ve grown up with, as we love the fragrance of a good wood fire when the weather turns cool.

Despite my momentary fantasy, there is no real threat of me moving to Ireland. As beautiful as it is, I could never live here. Too cold and too damp for my blood. I’m beginning to wonder why I brought short-sleeved tops on this trip. My forearms haven’t seen the light of day since we left Florida. I really thought it would be over 60° by now. Today: a whopping 56° and incessant rain, which makes it feel cooler. There are flood warnings. We’re holed up in our new cottage, waiting for the weather to improve. We just may have to see the national park in the rain. Ah, well, the moodier the weather, the more dramatic the landscape, right? Yeah, well, don’t quote me on that.

We biked a marathon!

Posted on May 26, 2019 by Cindy

Well, in distance anyway. 26.2 miles along the County Mayo Greenway from Achill Island to Westport, where we are staying. We’ve never ridden that far before. Yay, us! But, man, is my tush sore!

We had reserved bikes the day before when the weather forecast promised no rain. But on the day of the ride, as the owner of the bike shop drove us out to our launch point, it started to rain. How was I going to do a four-hour bike ride in the Irish rain? Irish rain, as the locals call it, is that fine, non-stop rain that you can barely perceive is falling. It’s more like a hovering mist, or a cloud descended to earth. It penetrates everything, makes you wonder when it was that you were last dry, and sends you scurrying for the nearest pub with a fire going in the hearth. Miracle of miracles, the rain subsided during the 45-minute van ride and the black clouds kept their distance for the remainder of the day.

the bog
a fixer-upper with a view
roadblock
tide’s out
Why do I love these guys so much?

We couldn’t have done it if it hadn’t been such a level ride—love these rails-to-trails conversions! Well, level until we were seven miles from the finish line. Newport must have been the town where railway service ended, or diverted to some place other than Westport, because the ride from Newport to Westport was relentless downhill plunges and uphill struggles while simultaneously navigating 90° turns—nothing a train could ever negotiate. Think about it: It’s impossible to gain downhill momentum for the uphill climb when you have to turn a corner at the bottom of the hill. So, I have to confess, there may have been a hill or two or three that we walked, but in our defense, the terrain was so hair-raising in parts that signs insisted cyclists dismount and walk it. We didn’t need to be told twice.

All in all, it was a great ride, and we’re very glad we did it. After all, knees can be replaced, right?

The Moher of all cliff walks

Posted on May 17, 2019 by Cindy

Psst! Hey, you! Yeah, you. I’m going to let you in on one of the best kept secrets in Ireland. Come a little closer. We don’t want this getting out or it will become another over-populated tourist destination. You want to see the Cliffs of Moher without all the traffic and a horde of tourists? I’m going to tell you about a little car park, well off the beaten path, that can only accommodate about forty cars, max. You drop a couple euro in the cashbox…yeah, two euro for the whole day… and in fifteen minutes you’ve got your own personal gander at the Cliffs of Moher, Ireland’s most iconic view. No, no, don’t thank me. Just keep it to yourself, okay kid?

Sound too good to be true? Well, it isn’t. Thanks to our Airbnb hosts in Limerick who let us in on the location of the car park, we’ve been there and done that. It’s not even a car park; it’s a farmer’s field. And the two euro is ostensibly to cover his insurance for allowing thousands of tourists to cross his land each year. But if he’s making a little money off of it, I don’t have a problem with that. It’s a generous service he offers.

The farm is outside the don’t-blink-or-you’ll-miss-it village of Liscannor on the southern coast of County Clare, and it provides access to an incredible, 13-kilometer cliff walk to the village of Doolin north of the cliffs. We actually saw signs for the cliff walk parking as we approached Liscannor, yet almost no one seems to know about or take advantage of this opportunity to take in one of the most beautiful sights in Ireland from a unique vantage point.

The rain had started just as we checked out of our Airbnb that morning. I eyed the thick, black rainclouds apprehensively as we drove through Limerick and past Shannon Airport. It didn’t look like a very good day for viewing the cliffs. Our Limerick hosts had told us not to bother in the rain. But my forecast called for sun, so we pressed on.

I don’t know how or when it happened, but as we approached Liscannor I pulled my nose out of a map to find blue sky with a low line of chubby, cumulus clouds just above the horizon. I looked behind and all around us—not a raincloud to be seen! The weather gods were smiling upon us, perhaps in apology for our first four days in Limerick. What a great day to be outdoors! What an amazing view!

After our walk we drove past the ginormous car park at the official cliffs visitor center. I watched the parade of people making their way up to the cliffs.

I wanted to tell them to get back in their cars and head to Liscannor or Doolin instead.

Don’t go for the canned version! Get outside and walk it!

But I held my tongue.

Let’s just keep it our little secret, okay?

birds nesting in the cliffs
natural cairn
the cliffs

Serendipity

Posted on May 15, 2019 by Cindy

Our last day in County Limerick and the sun was glorious. The most beautiful spot in Limerick to be outdoors on such a fine day? The village of Adare, hands down.

Adare, acknowledged by many as the prettiest village in Ireland, was directly on our path from our last Airbnb on the Dingle Peninsula to the one we’re in now, outside of Limerick. I had intended to stop in transit and spend the day. I have vague memories as we drove through of people sitting outside at sidewalk cafes having lots more fun than I was having hunkered down in the passenger seat of the car clutching my barf bag. “Do you want to stop?” Marcus asked. “Mmph,” I replied. We drove on.

Remember that blog about backtracking if you can? [Backtracking in the Wicklow Mountains] So, four days later, back we went.

Do you ever have those serendipitous moments when everything just seems to align? Well, our return to Adare was one of those. The main street was quite congested when we arrived, and we had to circle through town twice before the perfect parking space appeared right before our eyes. As I got out of the car, I looked up to see a wee craft shop with some children’s toys out front. The chance of it offering anything I would want to buy was slim, but there was something about the way my car door opened right onto the path to the shop and the crumbling, white-washed wall beside it with little purple flowers growing out of its crevices….

The shop was a cooperative run by the artists whose wares were featured. I love that! Let’s just say I found a few things I wanted to buy, but I also had the most captivating conversation with Keri, the artist on duty that day. She is a potter who makes little bottles used to collect water from holy wells. [Irelands Sacred Water]

We’ve seen signs for these holy wells all over Ireland—hundreds of them—natural springs that were discovered in pre-Christian days and used as sites for pagan rituals. St. Patrick, who brought Christianity to Ireland, was smart to incorporate them into the new religion. Rather than condemning them as pagan clap-trap, he ordained them as holy wells, thereby engaging more pagan converts.

For centuries travelers have sought out holy wells for healing purposes. Not only do they drink and collect the waters, but many soak a piece of cloth in them and tie the cloth on an inflicted part of their body. Before leaving the well, they tie the cloth to an overhanging tree branch. As the rag decomposes in the elements, the infliction ostensibly dissipates.

I love the folklore, and I love that the Irish can make room in their hearts for their ancient past while respecting their current religious foundations. They have an incredible heritage. Perhaps this is the reason I was brought here today.

walk along the River Maigue
Desmond Castle ruins
a true milestone

The sun will come out

Posted on May 13, 2019 by Cindy

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.

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.

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.

Spinning Compass

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