|
|
Ireland-Isle of Man Adventure Segment #1
Day
#0 - Day #4 - Friday May 10, 2002 through Tuesday May 14, 2002
Subjects: Departure, Shannon, Cliff of Moher, The Burren, Galway, Connemara,
Killary Fjord, Clonmacnoise
Day
#0 - Friday, May 10, 2002 - The El Rancho, Millbrae
Annie
and I always stay overnight at the El Rancho in Millbrae when we have
a before-noon departure from SFO. They have a very slick Park and Fly
program, where you can leave your car for up to 14 days for c. $140
including the room. They have a shuttle that is prompt and courteous.
We check in around 11:00 PM and set the alarm for 5:00 AM.
Day
#1 - Saturday, May 11, San Francisco to Shannon.
Bright, sunny day, no fog. Going to be lovely. "And, we're flying away
from it," said Annie. Shuttle arrived half full, we swung down El Camino,
picked up two women, many babies and one husband, and then quickly drove
across the freeway, to the airport to Continental's drop off, out, to
the counter and quickly checked. Began making contact with group members,
and then walked over to International section to find money change.
Met Linda Roberts in front of an about-to-open Foreign Exchange window
- 7:00 AM opening. Got some Euros, bought a triple latte at the nearby
coffee bar.
New Security Procedures - We were pretty much prepared for this - all scissors and sharp stuff was out of the carry-on luggage. Had to remove my computer from the carry-on as they are screened in a separate, translucent luggage bin. Everything went through OK. One of our group members got disassembled because she had forgotten and left a pair of scissors in her carry-on. Took about 15 minutes, lines were tolerable, and then through and into departure terminal. Eventually out to the departure gate - group there, waiting, seemed to be in a good humor.
 Bill Smythe guards the group's hand luggage in the departure lounge at Newark International Airport. |
Flight - SFO to Newark - Continental Flight #24. Departed at 9:00 AM, brief delay, and up into the bright, morning sky. Pilot explained that we would be taking a southerly route to avoid some weather in country's mid-section. We had a mid-flight meal --lunch?. Aircraft was a 757-200 - 3 and 3, two restrooms aft, one forward. Service was excellent, prompt, pleasant, attentive, and just when you thought you might need something - a drink of something, a garbage pick-up there it was. Their motto was "Work Harder" and they seem to. Very impressive. Flight was a little over 5 hours, and we arrived in Newark a bit after 5:00 PM. local time.
Newark International Airport - Great airport, laid out on triangles, with lots of food and shopping venues including a Staples, exercise equipment, McDonald's, yogurt (had a chocolate with chocolate sprinkles - called a "Jimmie"). Like a mall, but inside an airport. Relatively busy, but clean, bright and pleasant. Security was not that stringent at all - forewarned about 2 photo IDs and possible carry-on screening, but beyond the photos and ticket stubs, nothing out of the ordinary.
Leg #2 - Newark to Shannon. Continuation of Flight #24. In retrospect, this one-stop way of getting to Ireland makes a lot more sense than non-stop as it breaks up the flight, gives one a chance to stretch, amble about, get a snack, buy a book, whatever. We are now on the left side of the plane, with group scattered around nearby. We dozed fitfully for about 1.5 hours until we were about an hour out of Shannon. They served a croissant breakfast, the flight became a bit bumpy, and then we came in over the outer coast of Ireland - rectangular stone walls, green fields, into a country that was just waking up to a Sunday morning. Weather is clear, some clouds in the distance.
 Bus Driver, Tour Guide and Irishman, Michael Fitzsimon. |
We deplaned, did immigration, and then went in and waited for our luggage. Ours came out toward the end. Bright green fabric markers did help, though there was another group with a similar color. Out through customs - no declaration - to meet our guide, Mike Fitzsimon. Because we were a bit early, he gave us an hour in the airport. We loaded luggage aboard the bus, and then went to bookstore, bought some maps and then up to the restaurant where Annie got some porridge, we got lattes, and then sat down to eat with Mike.
Mike the Tour Guide. He's been doing this for 27 years, working for Lynott for a number of years, knows all the other guides, lots of joshing, kidding around. Stout, with florid complexion, has a twinkle and good sense of humor. Noted that nobody says "Top O' the Mornin'" though he actually did it to one of the other tour guides. We discussed protocol, interests of the group.
Shannon - Shannon Airport was a 1945 creation, and still has that old-airport feel about it. Some aircraft in various stages of repair and salvage on the far runways. There's an industrial park next to the airport, and evidence of free enterprise-type businesses, factories and the like. Very quiet as it's Sunday morning. Freeway's under construction, and there are political posters everywhere as there's an election coming up. The full-frontal photographs show earnest, serious, and responsible-looking folks looking directly at the camera. As always, the lush, green vegetation of upper latitude climes is somewhat jarring after the already-turning-brown California landscape. We drove north, and soon made our first stop.
 Roadside Famine monument built in 1995 with contributions from Irish organization in the United States. Just north of Shannon. |
Famine Roadside Monument - Not far up the road there is a turn out, and three large recent sculptures commemorating the tragedy of the Famine. There's one panel of a young, thin boy knocking on a doorway, and not being allowed in and dying. There are a series of panels describing the effect of the famine on County Clare, and one marker noting that the entire park/monument was jointly sponsored by Ancient Order of the Hibernian folks in both the US and Ireland. The Famine is always there, lurking.
The Irish countryside is distinctive. Roads are narrow, especially with such a wide bus (a "kneeler" that he can raise and lower at each stop). Roadside houses are bright, often yellow with white trim, jutting up into the air, high peaked roofs, slate, tile or thatched. Neat, tidy, jarring houses. Most have a double entry - mud room kind of entry - lace curtains, brightly colored doors, and a little car usually sitting off in a driveway, high ended like a beetle pointing its ass in the air.
County Clare is one of the country's poorer counties, and one of the major providers of emigrants to the US in the 19th century. Ennis is the county seat, has narrow streets, old section, and not that busy on this Sunday morning. Castles here and there. Sheep, horses, and fields arching up the hillsides away from the road. We followed highway N19 to the northwest, toward the coast. There's a lot of stone quarried here, but the countryside is generally tough, unforgiving.
This entire day seems very sudden - not much transition - in SF, and then BAM, in Ireland.
|
|
Cliffs of Moher - Large car park, visitor's center with shops, small restaurant, restrooms, and folks selling arts and crafts out of their cars and carts in front. Wind was pushing very hard, blowing offshore here. Bright, clear overhead, but there are clouds out to the east, from whence the wind is blowing. We walked west toward the cliffs, passed a busker - guy playing a Hohrner squeeze box like Annie has.
With the sun behind us, the cliffs are dark, brooding - variegated shades of dark brown, as they stretch away toward the southwest. Birds gliding around the cliffs below give a sense of dimension and scale - ocean is relatively quiet far below. Lots of folks hiking up and down the trail to the north. Southwesterly trails have been fenced off - signs say Danger in English, French and German. Part way up the trail we encounter a harpist, lying atop the grass, on the cell phone, her harp lying nearby, along with a donation box. Vivian Driscoll begins sketching the harp, the woman gets off the telephone, comes over and begins to sing and play - the wind blowing most of her song out to sea. Lovely, with Vivian sketching all the while. We then walked north up to the top, a look out that we don't go inside - fee to climb to the top - and then to the north looking over the cliffs to the Aram Islands not far off the coast. Wind is howling, tugging and pulling - we put up our hoods, and I have on 4 layers, but am still cold. Multi-colored Europeans, mix of motorcycle-leather group, older folks. The walk back to the visitor's center is harder because it's against the wind. We mill around the visitor's center for a bit, and then we reboard the bus and continue northward to the Burren and Black Head.
 Group scattered across the Burren. Note our bus driver on his mobile telephone in front of the bus. |
The Burren - The road climbs up and over the point that the Cliffs of Moher are the terminus for, and then the landscape begins to change, growing broody and weird. Gray rocks dominate - Mike describes the slate that they use here for roofing = large 1-meter square hunks of stone on outbuilding rooftops. Stone carving is an industry in this region. Then, the limestone becomes more dominant, gray, lumps like the top of a huge gray cake that had spawled in the cooking and cooling. Like gray, pull-apart dinner rolls. The upper most sections atop the mountains are given over to the stone - karsts - but there's a line where the walls begin and then the reclaimed land with livestock in the fields, almost vertical. Mike says that cattle raised in this country can handle the extensive limestone in the feed, but that imported animals cannot and die. We drive past the little spit and town of Doolin on the left and below, and then swing around and make a stop between that and the Black Head.
We get out, folks now beginning to get drowsy - Annie and Linda get off and have no clue as to why we've stopped here. Pass through a narrow little gateway in the roadside wall, and out across the stone to the cliff's edge. No signs or fences here - could easily fall over 100 feet to the rocks below - sheer, steep cliffs. I then recross the road - Mike's on the telephone in front of the bus - and up atop the limestone hill above the bus. Getting weary. It's at this point that Mike decides to truncate the day, get us to lunch and then to the hotel in Galway.
We have lunch at the Whitethorn Craft and Visitor center north of Ballyvaughan. They have a nice cafeteria-style restaurant. I don't remember much of the trip from Whitethorn to Galway as I was dozing on and off most of the time.
 The Galway Bay Hotel, Salt Hill, Galway. This was a very upscale hotel, though it was about a 20 minute walk from downtown Galway. |
Galway Bay Hotel, Salt Hill, Galway - We drove through the Galway town center and out to Salt Hill. Galway Bay Hotel, yellow with white trim - we drive around to the front which is in the back, and then quickly off-load luggage and get checked into the rooms. Very quick and efficient. Room has a double bed and a single - nicely appointed, older plumbing. We pull the curtains and go to bed. I awake, hoping that it's early morning, but no - it's 10 PM - I've slept 5 hours. It is almost dark, wind is blowing outside, and it has been raining now and again. We're eating trail mix for dinner. Some of the group members slept straight through for 12 hours to morning.
The hotel is lovely, catering to conferences as much as tourists. The only thing missing-about which we had warned folks-were washcloths. For some reason they don't supply them out here. We have buffet breakfast each morning with great selection of cereal, and then a cook who will scramble your eggs, serve bacon and the like. The group members are NOT starving. In fact, several mentioned this morning that it seems all we do is eat.
Day #3 - Monday May 13, 2002 - Connemara-Killary
Fjord-Clifden
Rainy, blustery morning. At least half of the group was at the door
of the restaurant when it opened at 7:30 AM. Resourceful folks. The
group was on time and on the bus at 8:30 AM as requested.
Salthill to Leenaun - Took highway west out of the hotel - not easy to get across the commute line coming into town (it IS Monday, after all, but seems like a week has passed) - cars stacked up for a mile or so getting into Galway for work. Road follows along the seacoast, with resort towns along the way. Clusters of house trailers gathered along the sea, then boxy houses facing the seacoast. Through the town of Spiddal and then Chonamara, turning north. The entire day's trip was a figure-8 counterclockwise. Much of the early discussion on the bus was political, with Michael, again, displaying his cynicism about politics. Gray and blustery. Not raining much, but dark and lowering sky.
The landscape is lumpy, pasture mainly, with sheep dotting the landscape, each bearing the splotch of florescent dye that identifies their owners. Watching the ubiquitous rock walls - and noting now the textures of those walls, the signature of their builder, some orderly, round stones, giving a cobbly texture from a distance, others using slabs, all angles and edges, looking like stacks of toast. The road is lumpy, as the road builders have to contend with that selfsame landscape - the peat sagging, and the rocks lumping - lots of "oomphs" and "umphs" as we roll along.
 Connemara Hillside. Note how high and steep the pastureland extends up the hillside. All of that pasture was cleared by hand. The objects floating in the water are floats hooked to strings of mussels being farmed in the sea. |
We get to Maam Cross and continue northward, into the Maumturk Mountains. Lovely, severe countryside, the mountains arching up on both sides, with impossible rock walls following the slope, ending in the scree way up on the mountains. Hard to believe that people actually cleared up that far, but it an indication of the push - desperation? - to make the land produce in any way possible. The land has been beaten; hammered by the Irish, as they did everything they could to wrench a living - life! - from the land. It's a desperate landscape, the marks of the Irish everywhere, as they dug their fingers into it, trying to scratch a living from it before being, finally, thrown across the water to a distant land.
The road passes through a saddle and down into a valley - much like the Eastern Sierra - where it connects with another highway and turns left. Some orderly, planted and partly harvested softwood forests on the slopes, appearing to be cut like a field of corn. Rhododendrons bursting everywhere alongside the road, Michael explaining that, because they are introduced, they need to be cut back as they are very aggressive, crowding out the native vegetation. Of course, that native vegetation has been cut down by the Irish and English. Lots of discussion about the forests, subsidies, and how most of the oak that covered the land ended up in English buildings, churches, and hearths. We crest this valley, and the road winds toward the northwest until we can see the Killary Fjord in the distance.
 Boarding the ship for a tour of the Killary Fjord, Ireland's only fjord. |
Killary Fjord - Our destination this morning is a catamaran journey on Ireland's only fjord, carved between two different geological deposits by glacier action. Not very deep, but narrow - 250 yards - at the mouth where it opens to the sea. We arrive at a small shed that marks the office of the shipping company. The catamaran, large and modern, swings around and comes into the landing. It is rainy, blustery, Irish weather, the weather coming from the east and blowing out toward the Atlantic. We seek shelter in the lee of the bus, leaning up against the engine cowling for warmth. Finally, we board. We are the only passengers. A short safety lecture, and then we push off, sliding slowing into the fjord and heading west. The water is relatively calm as the wind cannot generate many waves in such a short distance. Cloud-shrouded mountains on both side. County Mayo is on the north side of the fjord and County Galway is on the south. There is an audiotape presentation by a woman to accompany the trip. Many different decks and options for being inside or out. The wind blows the diesel exhaust right along with us, and for a time we're enveloped in a blue cloud as we push along.
Aquiculture is the theme here. When the land won't provide a living the Irish have learned to grow stuff in the water. Rows of blue barrels support columns of mussels (the water is salt), and farther along there are salmon-rearing pens, large cages suspended in the water. Here and there are boats filled with wet-suit attired workers who are tending to the farming. Sea farmers. They dress differently, and the boats are their tractors, but they work just the same. Also, from time to time, clad in bright red outer gear - rubber Zodiacs with 8 or so passengers, speeding along and then stopping as the driver/guide explains some natural feature or another. Just bus trips on different kinds of busses. The entire tip takes about an hour and before long the group is in the bar, having Bailey's, beer, and some even having an early lunch.
Again, the scratches of humans can be seen along the hillsides on both sides - particularly on the south side, and there is a road, ballasted here and there by rock cribbing, cut out of the solid rock elsewhere, connecting a house or two. A telephone/electric line is draped alongside the road, and circular culverts mark where streams slide beneath the road. Ribbons of water rush down the mountain here and there, suggesting that rainfall is heavier up in the cloud-shrouded mountains that we can't see.
We return to the dock, depart, and then board the bus to begin the second loop of the figure eight. The road pushes due west, and we stop for a moment - rather than get out, pay a fee and spend any time - at the Kylemore Abbey - a lovely cluster of buildings set at the back of a lake. We debark, look at the flowers, take photographs.
 Annie Lydon sniffs a lump of relatively fresh peat. She declared it "delicious." |
Clifden - the morning ends at the western apex of our figure 8 - Clifden. A busy, touristy town, nice human scale. Blustery. The group spreads out for lunch, banks, and a bit of shopping.
Peat Stop - The stuff is 10,000 year old - has texture of horse shit - resembles it - but has a pleasant, slightly musty smell. Michael says that the smoke is environmentally friendly and it does not produce a build-up in the chimneys. And, he says, the smoke is OK too. (How can that be?) Later we saw huge fields in Irish Midlands that were stripped, with the skin of the earth torn off by huge machines. The peat we saw alongside the road at this stop was dug by hand, drying over the summer and then taken away in the fall.
Connemara Marble - Stopped at a marble factory just north of Galway in Moycullen and then at a crystal factory. We don't care for factory stops much, but both were informative. The Irish tourist industry has been hurt badly by the event of September 11 last year. People have been laid off in some of these factories.
 Vivian and Don Driscoll, selected by acclamation to be Queen and King for the evening during ceremonies at Dungaire Castle. They've been drinking mead. |
Dungaire Castle Banquet - This evening we drove about 45 minutes south to Dungaire Castle for one of those "cultural" banquets. We are always a bit leery of these things, but this one was very pleasant. We were greeted by folks in costume, and we blended into several other groups of tourists. The surprise was that there were also locals seated at the long, wooden tables, including a Galway couple celebrating a special birthday. That's a good sign. Don and Vivian Driscoll were selected king and queen for the evening, and the mead flowed freely and a good time was had by all. Vivian quickly grew into the role, standing and toasting at every opportunity. I asked several of the performers (they did short skits based on history and literature after dinner) which of the various castle venues in the area they preferred, and they said this one as it is much more intimate than the more famous show at Bunratty Castle.
Day
# 4 - Tuesday, May 14, 2002 - Clonmacnoise
Another rainy and blustery day. We drove eastward into the Irish Midlands,
the land getting somewhat higher and the grass getting longer. Sheep
still ever-present, but the homes seem newer, and there not nearly as
many abandoned buildings as in Connemara. The land here is better.
The distances are not that great in Ireland, and the roads between towns are very good. But, at each town, the roads squeeze down and pass directly through, traffic slowing to a crawl. It takes 90 minutes to drive from Galway to Clonmacnoise, considered to be one of the most important historic sites in Ireland.
 The cemetery at Clonmacnoise. It was a dark and blustery day. |
We watched a video at the visitor's center, and then walked through the museum and out onto the grounds. The "high crosses" are considered to be the site's great features, and they are striking when seen against the sky and clouds. But the wind is howling outside, and it is difficult to even walk through the cemetery and ruins. Try as I might to NOT be influenced by the weather, eventually I am, and I return to the visitor's center and huddle. I will give Clonmacnoise another chance someday, but, due to the weather or my lack of appreciation for Medieval History, at this point it's not on my top ten. We drive back to Galway and turn the group loose with an 8:00 PM rendezvous at the bus park. I'm able to find an Internet/telephone store. Dinner at a local restaurant and back to the hotel.
Galway is really a very pleasant, human-scale city. College students, buskers on the streets, lots of music in the pubs in the evenings.