Ireland

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Waterford Killarney Kerry Muckross Bunratty

Still Thursday, June 8, 1995

After we dock at Rosslare, I'm expecting we'll have to go through customs & everything, but we just drive out. After we pick up the two people who got stuck in the lift when we were docking, that is. Apparently with the EEC thing, border crossings are much easier. Except for Britain, for some reason.

Well, we follow the traffic slowly through the town of Rosslare, then on to Wexford for a greatly anticipated supper. Since I foolishly didn't eat much for lunch, supper is looking better and better.

The Irish countryside looks alot like the English countryside, strangely enough. It also looks quite a bit like much of the U.S. Eastern seaboard. Which would seem to lend some credence to that Continental Drift theory.

We're staying tonight at the (apparently) famous White Hotel. However, the streets are so narrow, we wonder at times if our bus driver is actually going to make it without bending the bus. He makes it with the bus still in one piece, and we are more than just a little impressed.

And again we find that the restaurant is in the hotel is back at the back, down a long series of hallways and stairways. Perhaps there's some sort of ordinance. For supper I have the salad, then some dish involving more of the same salad and various & sundry vegetables. The waiter calls the potatoes "Roasties," and they are quite good. They say that the dessert is apple pie, but it's more like an apple cobbler. The one truly great thing about the meal is the bread. Best I've been able to find out is that it's Irish Brown Bread, or some sort of soda bread. It's quite fantastic. Almost like a cross between a cake-type bread (banana, zucchini, pumpkin), and regular bread. Amazing.

Tonight we watch an absolutely staggeringly strange sitcom called "Men Behaving Badly." Too wild. Then over to the movie channel for something even stranger starring Robert Pastorelli and Bebe Neuwirth. I have no idea what it's all about, but it's odd, and that's the important thing. Now that it's way too late, I find highlights of the England/West Indies Test Match. I get Andrew to attempt to explain cricket to me. Not really sure I understand most of it. Probably never will.

Friday, June 9, 1995

Up way too early again. At least there should be plenty of time to sleep on the bus today, and we should be in bed early tonight.

Breakfast is your basic cereal, hash-browns, eggs & tomatoes. The only thing that gets served more than the tomatoes are the potatoes & eggs. Well, and if you count cheese as a vegetable, that too.

First stop: the Waterford Crystal factory in Waterford (natch). I've always liked crystal, and I am seriously impressed by this place. It takes these guys anywhere from 5-10 years to learn and master their craft, and then that's what they do for the rest of their lives. Blow, carve, or etch the crystal. I guess they get paid well, if they don't screw up too many pieces, anyway. For some reason, all of the female guides are incredibly attractive. And most of the guides are female. Odd. I pick up a Small Mantle Clock for my parents, and have the on-site engraver put their names and anniversary date on it. Unfortunately, I get the dates of their anniversary and my sister's birthday mixed up. Man, do I feel like a putz. Of course, I don't realize this until we're well on our way down the road. Good one.

We stop for lunch in the strangely-named town of Youghal. Pronounced "Y'all." Ah, a southern town, someone says. Lots of kids hanging out on the main street. Can't tell if they're tourists or just local kids with nothing better to do during the summer. I talk one of the fast-food places into making me a burger without the burger, and go over to the harbor to eat. Not a bad view. Could get used to this kind of living. Then it's back to Main Street to do some more shopping. I get a traveller's check cashed at The Bank of Ireland. When I cashed one at the airport, I just assumed that they wanted to see my passport because we were at the airport. Well, they want to see it here, too. I don't usually have this much trouble getting traveler's checks cashed. And since I left my passport in my bag on the bus, my driver's license will have to do. I pick up a spoon for my sister, then some sort of finger rolls for lunch tomorrow. Then I look for the public restooms. The only one that seems to be available is a pay toilet. Fortunately, I have the 20p required. Ah well, you have to try something new every once in awhile, I suppose. Several members of our group are attempting to get the most for their money by using it as many times as possible before the time limit runs out. When they are done, I discover that this involves not letting the toilet flush, so I decide to let it cycle, and pay for an empty & clean bowl. But that's just me, I guess.

The rest of the day is spent driving to Killarney, or Cil Arne, as the road signs insist. The hotel is quite nice, on the shores of Lake Leane, or Loch Lein, which according to the brochure in the room means "Lower Lake." Lower than what, I'm not sure, but it looks great. After a good meal of salad, vegetables on pasta and cheesecake, I go exploring around the lake. They have some ruins of an old castle on the grounds. Either most of the castle is gone, or it was an incredibly small one. Not much there, but again, the lake is great. I find a path right next to the lake, and follow it for a fair distance. When I get back to the hotel I discover that, after a strange sitcom featuring Chris Barre as the hopelessly inept manager of a recreational center (The Britas Empire), there's nothing on. So, since sundown's somewhere between 9:00 and 10:00, I might actually get to bed early, after all.

Laying in bed reading, I get a fairly large shock. The phone between the beds is actually ringing. Having not answered a phone for quite sometime, I nearly don't know what to do. I haven't actually answered a phone since Sunday, and when I answer it now, it turns out to be the same person who had called me then. Yep, my youngest brother had tracked me down. He tells me that the problem with his car has been largely resolved, and in the process, they've gotten rid of my Dad's old car, too. It seems my brother's strange karma has gone back on the upswing. They also tell me that Mom & Dad left on their vacation at 10:30 the night before. Apparently they were quite anxious to get gone. Good to hear from home again, anyway. And I even manage to go to sleep early. Well, earlier, anyway.

Saturday, June 10, 1995

I have the same breakfast as everyone else: scrambled eggs on toast with mushrooms & tomato. However, we don't get it until 8:45, and we're supposed to leave at 9:00. Nice hotel, a bit slow with the food, though.

Today we're off on the Ring of Kerry, which is basically a drive around the Kerry Peninsula with many side stops so the tourists can take pictures, as well as buy the tourist stuff and see the local color (or would that be colour?). However, since it's Sabbath, I don't think we'll be giving the economy much help.

The first place we stop is your basic tourist trap, called Kerry Bay Village. It's apparently one of those folk village things. It's attached to a pub, of course (Guinness is Good For You). We just wander down the road and take pictures of the peat bogs and thistles & shamrocks. Back on the bus for our drive to Waterville. Nice oceanfront town. We take over part of the park for our Sabbath School. After assaulting everyone within earshot with our singing, we discuss the paralytic who was lowered through the roof. Then we have some time to wander around before lunch. It's kind of cool here on the shore, so most of us don't wander very far, and eat our lunches on the bus instead of outside. The Cloutens provide juice, but our lunch has to come from what we bought yesterday. I picked up some chocolate-chip tea cakes. Quite good. One of the ladies on the tour also gives me a banana, bless her soul.

We make several other stops during the afternoon, mostly to take pictures or find the public bathrooms. A little town with the interesting name of Sneem is one of those stops. It has a bridge over a stream which is filled with large rocks. I find a stairway down to the stream and decide to attempt a crossing, but give up and go around another way. There's about 4 or 5 other buses parked in and around the main part of town, and the tourists are everywhere.

Another stop is at a beach. It's a really great looking beach, and the sun is out by now, so it is fairly warm. The water is still cold, of course (it's the Atlantic, after all), so no one attempts to go swimming.

We continue to drive up into the mountains, and when we stop, Andrew and I have to climb as far up the hills as we can. There are sheep close to one stop, and Andrew goes after them to get some pictures. At another, we can see two separate bays on either side, and at a third (Moll's Gap), both side of the mountain range that we are crossing are visible. The last stop is Lady's View, from which we can (almost) see 3 lakes -- the main one, the upper, and the lower (by our hotel). Ah, that explains that "lower loch" thing.

These roads are incredibly narrow for so much bus traffic. It is recommended that the buses go in a counter-clockwise direction around this "Ring," and this seems to be a good idea. We only meet a couple of buses going the other way, and passing them gets quite interesting at times. Just passing the cars and occasional campers coming the other way usually requires us and/or them to at least slow down, if not to stop fully and inch past each other. Our respect for our bus driver grows by leaps and bounds. Still, it's a long day of sitting on the bus.

When we get back, it's time for supper. I have the vegetable platter, which is your basic plate full of all of the vegetables that they usually use as side dishes for the meat orders. And of course, the potatoes. Mashed and roasted this time. Andrew has the vegetable kebab, which is basically the same veggies, but on a steel skewer on top of rice. At least it doesn't take half an hour to get our orders this time.

After supper, several of us decide to walk down to the Muckross Abbey ruins. It's not too far, but it is a decent walk. They're working on restoring this place, and many of the walls have been rebuilt. You can even go upstairs. They have one section that looks like the typical cloister hallway, and I can't resist doing the monks chant from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Sounds really good in there.

When we get back to the hotel, we discover that there is an exhibition of traditional Irish dancing just starting in the lounge. So I grab a seat and watch. It's quite fantastic. Basically foot & leg movements. Their arms stay straight down at the sides unless they're holding someone else's arms. They even get volunteers from the audience for a couple of dances. Two of our group are brave enough to try. Fortunately, I'm sitting in the back, and they never get that far looking for volunteers.

It's 9:30 by now, and when I get back to the room, I discover that there's nothing on TV. Irish TV is even more creatively impaired than British TV. News, dull documentaries, or sports. It's like the only networks are PBS and ESPN2. The only other kinds of programs are either old BBC stuff (rare) or older American stuff. Andrew goes to sleep, and I go back to the lounge to read. I come back in after 11:00, and there is still nothing on. Nothing left but sleeping, I suppose.

Sunday, June 11, 1995

A fairly early start this morning. We want to get to Muckross House just after they open at 9:00, so we can beat the rest of the tourists. Fortunately, the scrambled eggs on toast with mushrooms and the ubiquitous tomato don't take so long this morning. For most of us, anyway. And we get gone basically on time.

Muckross House is one of those huge 19th century British/Irish country homes that probably cost a fortune to keep up. When the third set of owners decided that it was too much for them, they donated it and the surrounding grounds to the Irish government. The government turned it into Killarney National Park, which should give you an idea of just how big the grounds are. The decorations and furniture are just fantastic. The pool table weighs 4 tons they say. Not something you want to move around a lot, I'm guessing. Our guide is showing us all kinds of stuff, and telling us that the owners usually kept everything locked to keep the servants from stealing stuff like tea, wine, etc. The kitchen and servants' quarters are in a house that's almost completely separate from the main house, just to keep them away from the main house. Weird sort of need/despise/fear thing going on there. Now the servants' quarters have been turned into demonstration rooms for weaving, cobbling, bookbinding and other stuff. These rooms are not very big. Kind of helps you understand how the servants might get a bit envious of all the good stuff in the big house. We've only got an hour here, which is not nearly enough time to see all of the demonstrations, or buy some of the Irish woolen products (which seems to be the main goal of some of our group). However, the bookbinding demonstration is not happening this early in the morning, so it's no big loss for me.

Then it's off to Bunratty Castle & Folk Village. A couple of people on the tour have been here before, and they say the place has really been built up and improved. The castle is quite interesting. It's been rebuilt almost totally, and has quite an interesting history of being built, burned, rebuilt, retaken, neglected, and now finally restored. You can climb up in the towers on these really narrow spiral stairways. Hopefully the soldiers knew what they were doing when the castle was being attacked, because you could have some serious traffic jams on those things. And they didn't even have the handrails then, I'm guessing.

The folk village is basically houses and buildings from around the 1800s that they've moved to this site and restored. They have a town full of shops and a couple of pubs, so you can get your pottery, scarves and Guinness all in the same place. I stop for lunch at a tea house, and grab some apple tea cake & bread. I seem to be eating pretty light when I have to pay for it. Farther down the trail is Bunratty House. It probably says what it's famous for in the guide, so I guess I'll have to read it sometime. The House is, obviously, the best house in the park. The rest of the houses are those 1, 2 or 3 room things with thatched roofs and dirt floors. A couple even have a stable on one side. Fortunately, the house with a pig sty has that part separate. Still, it couldn't have been easy living in those places.

Since it was too dark in the castle and in most of the houses to take pictures, I have to pick up the souvenir book at the bookstore. Fortunately, these things are usually fairly cheap. They make most of their money selling the tourist stuff -- Irish books, scarves, vests, hats and the usual curios. Yeah, they look good, but I'd have to lug them around for the next 2 weeks, and besides, when am I going to use them when I get back? Not enough to justify it in my mind, anyways.

So, now for the Big City.