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.
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| 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 6th 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| Inside the Cloche Ban |
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| You could only by teeny, tiny sodas. They look even tinier when you're 6'4". |
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| 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.
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| 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?
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| Reginald's Tower in Waterford, Ireland's oldest civic building |
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| Replica Viking ship outside the tower, which is also a museum. |
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| 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. |
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| Street art |
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| King and Queen statue chairs |
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| Cathedral of the Most Holy Trinity, Waterford. |
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| The cathedral's 10 chandeliers were made and donated by the Waterford Crystal Factory. |
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| Name origin. |
