Three weeks in Ireland — the first few days…

By Caitlin Kelly

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Silence. Wind. Birdsong.

The tang of burning coal. A whiff of the Atlantic.

The fuchsia of hollyhock and heather and the brilliant yellow of gorse and buttercup.

Piles of peat, cut up and laid out in rows to dry before burning for fuel.

This is my fifth visit to Ireland, the first for my American-born husband. My great-grandfather was the schoolteacher in Rathmullan, County Donegal whose son emigrated to Vancouver, Canada, where my father and I were born.

Hence, back to Donegal!

We’re now in a rented cottage in Dungloe, Co. Donegal, the furthest northwest one can get in Ireland one can go; I found it through a quick Google search and hoped for the best. Then we’ll be back to Dublin for another week, with a likely trip north to Belfast to see the Titanic Museum and maybe a Game of Thrones location tour.

We love our new home for the next week: It is totally silent, filled with light thanks to its multiple skylights, and with clear views for miles across the inlets and hills. Custom-built for a local businesswoman and architect-designed, it’s simple, clean and modern, even with its gorgeous stone exterior.

We flew Aer Lingus  into Dublin on Bloomsday, June 16, and spent four nights with friends in Rathmines, a lovely residential neighborhood a mere four tram stops from St. Stephen’s Green, the heart of the city.

I wandered around to get oriented, too tired and jet-lagged to take in official sights. We enjoyed a meal out at Peperina, a neighborhood bistro and a drink at a local pub — just in time to watch a race from Royal Ascot on television. I had a fantastic meal at Avoca, a cafe/shop in Dublin, scored a great pair of suede sneakers and we drove the 4 hours north to Donegal.

There’s so much light! In Dublin there was still light in the sky at 11:45 pm, fully sunlit by 5:00 a.m. — here, further north, there’s even some light in the sky at 3:30 a.m. and it’s fully bright by 4:00 a.m.

While in the north we plan to: visit Rathmullan and Letterkenny, drive around the headlands, visit a few local islands, listen to traditional music, eat some lobster. I’m also hoping to get an Irish-language tutor for an afternoon while we’re in the heart of the Gaeltacht, those few remaining parts of Ireland where most people speak Irish and many road signs are only in Irish.

It’s a gorgeous-sounding language and I’d be thrilled to learn a bit of it.

Here are some photos of our trip, so far; with no phone or Internet access at the cottage, we have to head to a pub for that. Perfect!

From inside a terrific local seafood restaurant, The Lobster Pot, in Burtonport, Co. Donegal, The Lobster Pot, owned by a Minnesota emigre
From inside a terrific local seafood restaurant, The Lobster Pot, in Burtonport, Co. Donegal, owned by a Minnesota emigre
Along a local walkway -- the site of a former railway
Along a local walkway — the site of a former railway
The view from across the road. Can't walk down to the sea very far -- thorns and bog!
The view from across the road. Can’t walk down to the sea very far — thorns and bog!
The cottage, 3 bedrooms, great views
The cottage, 3 bedrooms, great views
Jose gazing out the window of our rented cottage
Jose gazing out the window of our rented cottage
I've never heard of a washed rooster -- Irish potatoes on sale in Dublin
I’ve never heard of a washed rooster — Irish potatoes on sale in Dublin
The range of shawls, sweaters, caps -- in the most gorgeous colors! These are shawls in Avoca, a Dublin shop
The range of shawls, sweaters, caps — in the most gorgeous colors! These are shawls in Avoca, a Dublin shop
Interior of the International Bar, Dublin
Interior of the International Bar, Dublin
A serious Dublin dive bar, founded in 1833, where my bar-mate offered me a quarter of his roast beef sandwich (Delicious!)
A serious Dublin dive bar, founded in 1833, where my bar-mate offered me a quarter of his roast beef sandwich (Delicious!)
A Dublin doorway
A Dublin doorway
My one-way ticket, 2 euros, 20. The fun bit? The voice telling riders to take their ticket and their change -- and announcing every tram stop in English and Irish -- is that of my Dublin friend, a career broadcaster
My one-way ticket, 2 euros, 20. The fun bit? The voice telling riders to take their ticket and their change — and announcing every tram stop in English and Irish — is that of my Dublin friend, a career broadcaster
The Luas -- a two-line tram system running through Dublib; Luas means
The Luas — a two-line tram system running through Dublin; Luas means “speed” in Irish

Happy St. Patrick's Day! A taste of Ireland from an Irish great grand-daughter

Topography of Ireland
Image via Wikipedia

Slainte!

That’s “cheers” in Irish — pronounced slawn-tche. Hoping your day is full of craic — fun.

I’ve visited Ireland four times, and loved it, even once driving the entire circumference of the island with my Dad, chasing up and down its green hills and visiting Rathmullan, Co. Donegal — a seaside town on Lough Swilly where my great grandfather was the schoolteacher. Family lore had it that, after big storms, there’d be jellyfish on his front lawn. Yeah, right, I’d say — but there was only a narrow road between the seawall and his lawn. True.

We even visited his one-room schoolhouse and I saw his handwriting in the old ledgerbooks. The building was for sale and we fantasized, briefly, about buying it.

Landing in Shannon, Ireland’s western airport, means staring down at a patchwork quilt of every shade of green, tiny plots of land, each marked off with a stone wall. It’s magic. You drive on the left and the narrow, twisting roads, with high hedges and limited sightlines, is a real challenge, especially with jet lag. I went, alone, to follow two American women, one from San Antonio and one from D.C., at the annual September singles’ festival in Lisdoonvarna —  where men outnumber women about four to one — for The Washington Post, Ottawa Citizen and Dallas Morning News. It’s a hoot. I’ve never felt so alluring!

Dublin is terrific, but Galway City is fantastic — a college town with lots of great pubs, friendly and manageable. My Dad and I once spent an afternoon collecting mussels from Galway Bay, went home and made soup; for a while, he owned a house, built in 1789, just outside the town of Athenry — then, it cost barely more than my suburban New York apartment. I loved looking across the countryside through its wavy, 200-year-old windows.

Here are some of my Irish favorites:

Guinness. Yes! Dark, cool, creamy, distinctive, it’s probably Ireland’s best-known beer.

James Joyce. I am a faithless wretch, never having read his work, so he’s not technically one of my personal favorites — but you can’t leave him out! I have visited his home.

Luka Bloom, a singer-songwriter, I love his album The Acoustic Motorbike.

The Chieftains, founded in 1962, probably Ireland’s best-known band for traditional music.

The Aran Islands. The shaggy cows there are the exact shade of Guinness. There are three islands, reached by ferry from Galway, and filled with 15th. century churches and pre-historic ruins.

Colm Toibin. His latest, recent book, “Brooklyn: A Novel”, has received rave reviews. I’ve read his earlier work and loved it.

William Butler Yeats. You may already know some of his poetry’s lines off by heart — “Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams”.

Glen Hansard, winner of the 2008 Academy Award for “Falling Softly” his gorgeous song from the lovely 2007 film, shot in Dublin, “Once.” He also starred in one of my favorite films, The Commitments, from 1991, whose soundtrack is a must-own.

Films The Field, Waking Ned Devine, Ryan’s Daughter, which united the formidable talents of Robert Bolt and David Lean (who did Dr. Zhivago) and The Dead, set in Dublin in 1904, starring Angelica Huston and directed — his final film — by her father, from his wheelchair on oxygen, John Huston.

Grainne, (pronounced Grahn-ya), the lady pirate:

Grace O’Malley (also called Granuaile) was a famous pirate, seafarer, trader and chieftain in Ireland in the 1500’s. She was born in 1530 in County Mayo, Ireland and was the daughter of sea captain Owen O’Malley. As a young child, Grace always knew she wanted to be a sailor but as a female, she was discouraged repeatedly. Extremely upset when her father refused to take her on a sailing trip, legend has it Grace cut off all her hair and dressed in boy’s clothes to prove to her parents that she could handle the trip and live a seafarer’s life. Seeing this, her father and brother laughed aloud and nicknamed her “Grainne Mhaol” meaning “Bald Grace” (which is believed to have led to her nickname “Granuaile.”) Eventually, through her persistence, she was allowed to go to sea with her father and his fleet of ships.

As a child, Grace often sailed with her father on trading missions overseas. Once, upon returning from a trip to Spain, their ship was attacked by an English vessel. Grace she climbed up onto the sail rigging. Watching the battle from above, she noticed an English pirate sneaking up on her father, raising a dagger behind his back! The brave Granuaile leapt off of the rigging, through the air and onto the pirate’s back…. screaming all the while! The distraction this caused was enough for the O’Malleys to regain control of the ship and defeat the English pirates.

She spent her young life learning the ways of the sea and grew to be quite the sailor — eventually having her own fleet of ships. Her family had become wealthy mainly through fishing and trade, but in her later life, Grace took up piracy by taking on Turkish and Spanish pirate ships and even the English fleets. She grew her estate to include a fleet of ships as well as several islands and castles on the west coast of Ireland.

In her later years, Grace developed her reputation as a fearless leader through her efforts in battle along side her followers. Legend has it that Grace gave birth to one of her sons while out to sea. The very next day following the birth of the baby, the ship was attacked by Turkish pirates. Though exhausted from giving birth Grace grabbed a gun, went on deck and proceeded to rally her men against the Turks, forcing their retreat.

I’d love to hear some of yours…