plant & ghost: Ireland Trip, Dublin to Waterford (2 November 2017)

We wake up early for the first full day in Ireland. We’re headed from Dublin to Watertown, by way of stops in Glendalough and New Ross. I’m sitting in an aisle seat next to my brother toward the back of the bus. I want to watch the scenery, but I get so motion sick that most of my travel time will be spent sitting very still with my eyes closed, even though I’m using a scopolamine patch.

Ireland doesn't have Greyhound busses, it has Irish Setters

Glendalough is a glacial valley, coming from the Irish Gleann Dá Loch, which means “valley of two lakes”. We visit the lower lake section to see the monastery Kevin built in the 6^th century, before he was a saint. Kevin was the son of nobles, but found his calling to be the priesthood. He came to the lake to live a secluded life. His home was a man-made cave, remnant of a Bronze Age tomb; his companions were the local animals. He lived as a hermit for seven years, and it is said he had a great reverence for nature and a deep love of the animals he shared the loch with.

I love my people too much to be a hermit, but I can absolutely see the appeal of living out here in seclusion. It reminds of Iceland and parts of the PNW, where it feels like the landscape is very much its own being. Small, green hills roll down themselves in the distance, ending in a lake I cannot see from here. A blue stream cuts in front of me: between the stream and the hills sits the ruins of the monastery. Another range of hills is quite close, and curves around behind us- we are, after all, in a valley. This hill is starting to color with autumn, more orange than green. I feel sort of held by the landscape, and the birds are very talkative. I think I could be here alone and not feel lonely.

The Round Tower in the distance

Our group’s first stop is the visitor’s center, where we watch a short video on this history of the area, and then meet our tour guide. She leads us to the old entrance, known as The Gateway. The Gateway is the pair of stone archways that would have led visitors into the monastery compound. They’re made in the roman fashion, with a keystone, and are the only surviving examples of medieval gateways into monastic cities. Just beyond the second arch is a cross carved into a large stone wall.

It’s the first cross, but definitely not the last cross you see. The burial grounds sprawl around you as you walk toward the Round Tower, Cathedral, and other buildings. Many of the tombstones are topped with crosses, most of them Celtic crosses. Our guide tells us that the Celtic cross is a marriage of the old religion and new: pagans worshipped the sun, while Christians worshiped Christ. The Celtic cross has the traditional Christian symbol, but incorporates the solar disc to fuse the two religions.

Our guide points out one cross in particular, called Saint Kevin’s Cross. It’s plain, and very tall. She tells us that the local legend is that if you stretch your arms around the base of the cross and you can touch your fingertips together (a big, ecclesiastical hug), you’re going to Heaven. Instead of going to Heaven, a different version of the legend says you’ll have your wish granted. I guess when you try it, you should probably wish to go to Heaven, just to hedge your bets. I’m saving my “get fresh with some old rocks” for Blarney, so I don’t rub up on ole Kev’.

We get to walk right up next to the Round Tower, something straight out of Rapunzel. The high doorway is over our heads, maybe 15-20 feet off the ground. Our guide tells us that Vikings frequently raided the monastery, and that the most likely use of the tower was not for protecting people, but protecting goods. Clergy or townsfolk would have hoisted valuables and food up into the tower for safekeeping, and then removed the ropes/pulleys or ladders. Then you just hoped the raiders were happy enough with easy steals instead of storming the tower, apparently.

The Round Tower during a sunburst. We walked right up next to it. The stones felt rough and very old.

We walk past the remains of the Priest House, St Kieran’s Church, and Trinity Church. Glendalough is also called the City of Seven Churches, since it had that many different places to worship over the years. The Cathedral is now four large and crumbling stone walls. They curve upward, still wanting to support their long-destroyed wooden roof. The oldest parts of the structure date back to the 1100s. Inside holds many grave slabs, some set into the floor and others leaning against the walls. Th stone detail of a peaked window is still beautiful.

Our guide takes us in the only complete structure on the grounds that I can see, Saint Kevin’s Kitchen. It’s called the kitchen because, not too long ago, people confused the bell tower for a chimney, and assumed this was the cooking kitchen. It’s actually a nave-and-chancel church from the 1100s. You can see post marks about 10 feet over your head where crossbeams would have been fitted in to hold up a wooden second story. There are two doorways, and one window. It is very dark inside.

Ian, inside the Kitchen

We don’t stay any one place very long- the tour is meant to be a sampling, an overview of Ireland. I’m glad I get to see so much of the country, but I would also really love to stay and explore some of the places in depth. We’re back on the bus and headed to an authentic pub for lunch. We arrive at The Cloch Bán in Clonroche, County Wexford. It’s sweet, white-washed building set right up next to the road, with a lovely coat of ivy covering the first story. Inside, a low-timbered ceiling hangs over the bar. There are 3, maybe 4 women working that day, and while they move very fast they don’t seem flustered to see 40 hungry visitors. We take up every available seat in the dining room, which is decorated with old taxidermy mounts, trophies won by local sports teams at least two decades ago, and faded photographs. I fold a napkin over and over to wedge under our table leg to keep it from wobbling.

Inside the Cloche Ban

You could only by teeny, tiny sodas. They look even tinier when you're 6'4".

The Liar's Bar

Back on the bus, and we head to New Ross. New Ross is obsessed with President John F. Kennedy; in fact all of Ireland seems to be. During the trip, several tour guides talk about JFK with reverence. Kennedy visited Ireland in 1963, meeting the citizens and diplomats alike. According to our guide, the citizens of Ireland were shocked and hurt when JFK signed an order to limit their number of immigrants to the US, until Kennedy explained that it was in order to keep Ireland’s great minds in Ireland. JFK’s great-great grandfather, Patrick Kennedy, lived in New Ross: his homestead is now The Kennedy Homestead, a museum and historic site.

We’re here, though, to visit the Dunbrody Famine Ship and Museum. The museum has two parts: inside, which has a section on famous persons of Irish descent as well as historical information on the Great Famine; and outside, which is a replica famine ship. Again, we watch a short orientation video. Our guide is a man named Michael, and I like that he makes an extra effort to engage the kids in the audience. Michael takes us to the ship, and points out that our group of 50 people is only a quarter of the people who would have been aboard with steerage-class tickets. Standing fairly close together, our small group takes up half of the deck.

Before the Famine, potatoes were the primary food (in addition to buttermilk) for the 3 million poorest people in Ireland. A blight (Phytophthora infestans) struck the nation’s crop in 1844. By 1845, it’s estimated that up to half of Ireland’s potatoes were diseased and inedible; by 1846, it increased to seventy-five percent. 1846 is when the first deaths by starvation were recorded. All told, a million people died, and another million emigrated to escape starvation. Government assistance was of varying help. In 1847, the Irish Poor Laws meant that landlords were primarily responsible for financing the workhouses and soup kitchens. Instead, many landlords just evicted their tenants to save money.

Aft.

We go below deck, climbing backwards down steep ladders. The accommodations are as poor as you’d expect: two levels of sleeping bunks line each side of the ship, with a narrow, open living space between. Michael tells us that when the weather was good, the captain would let steerage passengers have an hour on deck: the only chance they had to wash, cook, empty their latrine buckets, and see sunlight. We’re joined by a costumed reenactor, who tells about her family, how many children she has already lost to the famine, and how she and her now very ill husband hope for a better future in America. She leaves, and a first class passenger joins us to talk about how disgusting we all are as steerage passengers, how she dines with the captain, how she has family waiting for her and her husband in Boston.

I gotta say, I feel awkward as fuck about interacting with reenactors. I felt the same way when I visited a Renaissance Fair near Spokane, when I’ve gone to Murder Mystery productions, when I talk with them at Historic Houses. I don’t know why. Seeing an actor on stage it’s easier for me to suspend disbelief, I guess. Once they break that fourth wall and talk to me, I can’t tell how much of anything I should play along with, and I worry that when they ask for questions I’ll ask something they don’t have an answer to, and I’ll make this poor actor struggle for a response. Anyway, what that means is that when Annie and Mrs. O’Brien ask for questions, I keep my mouth shut and act extra-interested in my surroundings so I don’t get called on. Both ladies independently zero in on Kristina and her sweet husband, Willis. They’re a very nice young couple from Canada, but they both take the attention really well and play along.

We make it to Waterford, home of the famous crystal factory and “Ireland’s oldest city”. Our bus stops about a mile from the hotel so we can debark and meet our Waterford tour guide and see the town as we walk to our lodging. He’s the first guide I haven’t liked: not that he isn’t knowledgeable, there’s just something about his air that’s off-putting to me. Some affectation that puts me on edge. I feel bad, not liking someone for really no reason. He talks about the city, its history with Vikings and crystal making, but I don’t absorb any of it. Something about the city makes me feel like I’m being tipped, like I have to dig in my heels and lean backward from falling over. I wonder why that is?

Reginald's Tower in Waterford, Ireland's oldest civic building

Replica Viking ship outside the tower, which is also a museum.

A church building that was used to house the elderly in Henry VIII's time. Henry VIII had to be talked into allowing the elderly to live out their lives here by being promised two prayers every day would be devoted to him.