Ireland Files 10. Drinking in Dublin

DUBLIN

Kissing mission and acquisition of Eloquence complete I headed for Dublin.

Jason seems to have issues every time we hit a city and managed to get us completely lost while having a recalculation fit. Recalculating, recalculating, recalculating, recalculating. Lucky he has a nice voice. He eventually led me to a suburban dead end. Happy days. I eventually arrived at my over priced hotel and headed for an overpriced pint.

My first order of business in this fair city strangely enough was to find the Australian Embassy in Dublin so I could cast my vote and attempt to keep that misogynistic mad monk out of government. We all know how that turned out. Regardless it was a treat to be in a room of Aussies for a few minutes. No worries, righto, thanks mate, see ya, yeah ta.

Being alone in a big city once more I opted for the tourist bus. The live guides are the funniest yet and a very good example that the male of the species can in fact multi task. The guides manage to talk, be funny and drive those gigantic double decker buses around the city. I was suitably impressed. Being Irish they are also incurable incorrigible flirts and I had so many comments on my lack of wedding ring that I have taken to wearing one to give me some peace. They are a silver tongued breed and we were regaled with gems and pearls of wisdom.

My wife uses the smoke alarm as a timer.
The definition of mixed emotions is watching your mother in law go over the cliff in your new car.
My wife ran off with a policeman. Every time I hear a siren I fear he’s bringing her back.
The millennium spire was put up in 2003.
One sang a spirited rendition of Molly Malone, that mussel and cockle seller by day and lady of the night by well night.
Another pretended that the Guinness Storehouse was closed for a private function that day.
Another changed his name from Mick to Paddy and various other Irish names at each stop.
That was just a few. I wish I had better retention for jokes.

There is so much to see in Dublin, two days is barely enough to scratch the surface. I missed the cultural things like museums and galleries and did the other really important things like visiting the makers of some fine beverages.

GUINNESS STOREHOUSE

Seeing as it was in fact and is always open I went. Pretty damn expensive too at about 16 euro but it did end with one very lovely pint in a glass tower with a panoramic view of the city. Up there with the Titanic tour as a sensory experience. The first room includes a fragrant sea of real barley, hops plants in glass cases, a cascading waterfall and loads of information about how they make their very special beer.

Arthur Guinness was one cool guy. He is loved in this city for many good reasons. As well as being the biggest employer in the city he truly cared about his workforce and tried to make life better for them. He was the first to introduce free healthcare for the men and their families, looked after the wives if hubby died, built decent housing and the list goes on. The cheeky sod, when signing the lease for the run down distillery he used to start off his business, negotiated for a 9000 year lease for about 45 pound a year! Now that’s forward thinking.

Jameson Whisky Tour

It was only fair to visit the city’s other famous alcohol distillery, otherwise it would have felt left out. Both Scotland and Ireland have loads of distilleries and I’ve somehow managed to not do an actual tour, so that’s my second excuse.

That’s my kind of chandelier.

Bloody expensive again at about 14 euro but once again worth it. My bus driver had told me that they ask ten people from the group of 40 or so to “volunteer” to be a taster and that you had to be quick. My hand shot up like a proverbial rocket and I scored the coveted role. A cheesy movie, good explanations of the process and alchemy involved in making their magical brew. The taste test was to learn the difference between Scotch, American and Irish Whisky. It was a hard job but somebody had to do it. I am now of course an insufferable expert and even have a certificate to prove it.

Dublin Literary Pub Crawl

This was such a highlight for me and I wish I had managed to do their historical walking tour as well. Ireland, and in particular Dublin, has produced some brilliant writers. Many of them having gone through the doors of Trinity College which we do visit on the tour. Two brilliant actors and literature enthusiasts walked a group of willing enthralled victims around four or five of Dublin’s pubs educating, quoting, impersonating or performing famous works by the authors. Oscar Wilde, WB Yeats, James Joyce, Samuel Beckett, Jonathan Swift, Bram Stoker and a bunch of guys and gals I’d never heard of.

Trinity College

The stops in the actual pubs are breaks and we had only 20 minutes to order and polish off a drink. I was forced to do the sacrilegious and order a half pint! Frankly I was embarrassed. This was one of my last cultural experiences in Ireland and rates as one of my best. Unmissable.

Look for the shamrock. Forget cappuccino art, Guinness art!

GREENERY

I did manage to visit one green space, St Stephens Green. Once upon a time a private garden but later opened up to the public by another philanthropic Guinness family member. Flowers, lawns, duck filled ponds and sculptures, including a very abstract one of WB Yeats. Lovely!

Dublin does have a Botanic Garden but I gave it a miss as the ad for it had a picture of a glasshouse and I just can’t bear being disappointed again. I’m all glasshoused out.

NEWGRANGE and KNOWTH

One last and fabulous cultural experience before I leave these emerald shores. I was so pleased I got to save it until last. Only an hour outside of Dublin, these remarkable ancient burial mounds are older than Stonehenge and the Giza Pyramid dated at around 3000BC.

The visit is carefully managed by the visitor centre for very good reason. When the site was originally uncovered the early visitors were souvenir hunters and fond of graffiti. Lots of precious damage done. It also means that now the site only ever has as many people as can comfortably enjoy it at a time. They transported us to the sites driven by yet more cheeky bus drivers. A breed apart. The guided tours are inexpensive but the day I turned up was magical free day! Happy horti.

I found the tours of the two different sites absolutely fascinating. Two different guides, resolutely passionate about their mounds. That sounds a bit rude!

The burial mounds are more correctly known as passage graves and are perfectly astronomically, or is it astrologically, designed so that on either the solstice or equinox depending on the mound, the inner chamber lights when the sun is perfectly aligned for an ever so brief time. Our guide at Newgrange, the only one you can go inside, was able to recreate the Winter Solstice wonder by a display brought to us by the electric company. Magical. I’m not being sarcastic, it really was. The inner chamber of Newgrange takes the form of a cross. It predates christianity by a lot so it aint no crucifix! Claustrophobics beware. It is a wee dark passage and once inside there is nowhere to go.

The Neolithic carvings from these sites formed the largest and perhaps oldest collection in the world. Loads of theories abound regarding the meaning of the spirals and other carvings but the decoding equivalent of the Rosetta Stone alas has never been found. Apparently the debate rages with gnashed teeth between the various experts. Grrr. Nothing scarier than a scholar. The spirals found inside and out of both sites are used as the template for much of the Celtic style jewellery sold in Ireland today.

I thought about asking what species of grass was covering the mounds but you know, that might have tipped them over the edge. Plus I didn’t actually care. What I really wanted to was to have a roll or perhaps cartwheel on the mounds but I reigned my impulse in. Don’t want to get banned.

And that is IT for Ireland. I had to race up to Belfast to drop off the car and bid GPS Jason a tender farewell and race back to Dublin before I headed to my next stop, USA and Canada. Bloody hell! Hard to believe that’s it. Not feeling that excited about the US yet but perhaps it will enthral me once I’m there.

Before I go a few more Irish idioms to share.

Cead mile failte – a hundred thousand welcomes
The traditional Gaelic greeting but not used nearly enough.

The modern version is:- Welcome, you are most welcome. Still good but just not the same.

Thanks a million. Not just thanks a lot, a million!

Can be used in tandem with another pearler:-
That’s grand, thanks a million.

Fair play to you – When they are very impressed by you or an accomplishment. Most Irish think that my solo journey is both mad and deserving of a “fair play to you!” I’ll take that.

Spirit of the River Liffey

Molly Malone, seller of cockles and mussels and “other” things

Spot the bullet hole

One last hug with the big green Guinness guy.

Ireland Files 9 – Kissing in Cork

KISSING IN CORK

There is only one reason to come to Cork and that is to pucker up with the Blarney Stone. I’m sure there are other reasons to come to Cork but that was mine. In the absence of hugs, I’m looking for a big kiss.

The magical mystical Blarney Stone confers the gift of eloquence to those who climb the castle and lie back to kiss where millions have kissed before. I’m sure it’s a bacteria trap. They don’t exactly disinfect it between kisses. Perhaps that’s how cold sores truly get spread!

There is a stone there,
That whoever kisses,
Oh, he never misses
To grow eloquent

Some would say I talk too much already. Now that I’m eloquent I’m dangerous!

It is a perilous feat. OK it’s not but it is an adventure. First there is the climb up the winding narrow staircase and through the ruins of the castle. I couldn’t believe how many people had come all that way but didn’t go up! Chickens. Once one has conquered the castle one lies back over what feels like a chasm as a lovely lad supports you and a bored photographer waits to immortalise your moment.

I less than eloquently let out an involuntary “Jesus Christ” as I leant back into the abyss and pulled myself over to the stone. It feels like a long way but from the photo I’m reasonably sure it’s not! I do tend to the dramatic! It runs in the family……. All thoughts of germs and hygiene fled as instinct took over and I gave the stone its quick smooch because soonest kissed, soonest over. As I stood up filled with elation and gratitude for both the experience and for the simple glorious fact of being alive out came “Jesus, Mary and Joseph”! I’ve been in Ireland too long. . .

GARDENS

For those horticulturally inclined like me, the grounds of Blarney Castle has loads to look at. I could easily have spent an entire day but having a big drive to Dublin ahead I spared only a couple.

Poison Garden

Just at the foot of the castle lies this dangerous garden full of plants with diabolical potential. All fantastically signed and some behind bars. I was aware of most species and their deadly constituents but others surprised me. Some were there for their magical lore. For example Buxus sempervirens, Box Hedge, was planted around houses to keep witches out. The exceptionally poisonous or perhaps tempting plants were kept in cages. Educational and fascinating.

The deadly Cannabis sativa Marijuana plant, behind bars at last!

The horticultural happiness continues with a glorious herbaceous border in bloom that the giant bees were going nuts over, a fern garden, pinetum, forest walk, garden art installation, loads of beautiful mature tree specimens and joy of joys most of the plants are labelled! A great day.

Western Red Cedar – Thuja plicata. A beautiful specimen

The butterfly and the bee

STONE WALK

The magical mystery tour continues in true Blarney style and one cannot tell if it is Baloney or not. The walk visits various mysterious rock formations. The Witch Stone (where the witch of Blarney is imprisoned during the day); a Dolmen (a megalithic tomb portal, I went through but nada, or maybe it did!); Wishing Steps (where you have to close your eyes and walk up and down thinking of your wish); Witches Kitchen (where she cooks at night); Druid’s Cave, Druids Stones, Sacrificial Altar (nice) and last but not least The Fairy Glade. Beautiful and great fun.

The Dolmen

The witches daytime prison. The people leave her copper coins as a gift

WHAT I MISSED
Ogham Stones at the University. These giant stone runes of the ogham alphabet were something I was really keen to see but Jason was having none of it as a GPS destination so I gave up.

The whole rest of the city. Oh well.

NEXT STOP DUBLIN – where I plan to keep my lips to myself.

But a few more randoms and pretties

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Random garden art with a lovely prostate Juniper. All the better to see you with.
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Nothing say Fairy like a Fuchsia

Ireland Files 8. Krafty Kerry and Trouble in Tralee

COUNTY KERRY

After my glorious day in Doolin I had a big drive ahead of me to County Kerry and the town Tralee. Sadly I had to bypass Limerick. There once was a girl from Australia……..

The journey took nearly an hour longer than expected due to traffic, always a shame after a lovely day. With more than a little dismay I arrived three hours later to find my hotel was hideous and extremely noisy.

By noisy I mean it had a bloody fun park complete with flashing lights and spewing out inane pop music right on its doorstep. They didn’t mention that on booking.com! My room faced onto the magnificent sight and was right next to a speaker.

By hideous I mean it stunk like a mixture between Old Spice and Lynx. That smell is enough to turn me into a lesbian. Ugh! The lacklustre employee expressionlessly told me it wasn’t even loud yet as the “fun” went late into the night but he was sure I’d sleep through it because I looked tired. Thanks!

I was there less than an hour before I walked out of that heck hole and into a much nicer albeit significantly more expensive hotel streets away. I would have paid anything at that point. I was a sorry sweaty sight by the time I was settled in. My new and aptly named Grand Hotel was so nice, and they even gifted me a cupcake after dinner to cheer me up!

DINGLE

You got to go Dingle! I kept hearing that over and over from all and sundry so despite feeling exhausted after the previous day’s adventures I hopped back into the car, and I went.

The drive at the very least was worth it through the magnificent Slieve Mish mountains and not overly far. I did a round trip using the highway on the way there and a scenic route known as the Connor Pass on the way back. Both routes are picturesque but the Connor Pass is a little more challenging and has a short but scary single file section on the edge of the cliff. But I got mad skills! The view is worth the trouble. The majestic mountains are crowned with clouds that cascade down like a nebulous waterfall. Exquisite.

I did learn a new word that day. Corrie! That lake is a a particular type of landform found in mountains as a result of alpine glaciers. Corrie!

The town of Dingle itself is pretty enough but much like other Irish seaside towns I’ve visited. Pubs, shops, boats tours and historical landmarks close by but I didn’t have the energy to drive any further than the town and back to my cushy hotel. It does however boast its own local celebrity dolphin, known as Fungi! He was a no show this day. Can’t have everything. There was one big downside to Dingle. For no reason I could understand even though the streets were clean it smelt like garbage. Unpleasant and weird.

Hugging Fungi, well the metal version of him at least

THE ROSE OF TRALEE

Besides my posh hotel staff I couldn’t say I’d particularly warmed to the town of Tralee. The traffic was just ridiculous for a small town with long queues and inspired rage. Just before I left however I happily stumbled across the Rose of Tralee garden and forgave the town nearly everything. The garden is truly exquisite. Beautifully maintained and with fragrant, spectacular specimens. I could smell their perfume metres away. Happy horti! The gardens also contained some other excellent plant specimens and Celtic inspired sculptures. Way better local attraction than the noisy bloody fun park!

The Rose of Tralee competition has been going for years in honour of some tragic star crossed lovers. William loved Mary but he was from the right of the tracks and although beautiful, she Mary, was not. The family sent him all they way to India to keep them apart but alas when he came back to claim her she was dead. He composed the song The Rose of Tralee in her memory and today the competition held in its name flourishes.

Open originally only to natives of County Kerry, now anyone who can prove Irish heritage from around the world can enter. And enter they do it seems if the extensive multinational list of names on the honour wall is anything to go by. It is the Miss Ireland contest except they are apparently truly looking for goodness not just beauty. It is said that by some fortune the winners always manage to have both.

She was lovely and fair as the rose of the summer,
Yet ’twas not her beauty alone that won me;
Oh no, ’twas the truth in her eyes ever dawning,
That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee.

RING OF KERRY

OK so I didn’t actually do the Ring of Kerry drive!

I had grand plans to do it on my way to Cork in one day. Apparently that was a daft idea and I was talked out of it by every member of staff at my hotel. “I’d not be doing that, so I wouldn’t!”

Proving once again that travel has not made me smarter, I stupidly thought that based on the distance, the drive only took a few hours. It takes five! Most people do it in two days in order to fully enjoy the experience. Research, Kisane, do your damn research. Oh well, it just gives me an excuse to come back.

I was directed instead to drive to the town of Killarney and permitted to do just the last leg of the ring, the final hour or so that leads to the town of Kenmore. It ended up being a good thing as I passed through two places with names I just couldn’t resist.

The first was Muckross. My mother was fond of calling me Lady Muck as a child. I wonder why?

The second was Macgillycuddy Reeks. My dad enjoyed referring to our family colloquially as the Macgillycuddys.

In a weird coincidence, along that very route I drove past a farm called Kissane Sheep Farm! I am a busy girl. Lady Kissane Muck Macgillycuddy. I think it works.

Muckross was a great destination as it has Muckross House, Gardens, Abbey, a petting zoo, traditional farms and Torc Waterfall. They even had horse & trap rides but once bitten twice shy. I used my legs instead. I headed straight for the waterfall and nearly regretted my choice. It was quite a long way to the other side of the grounds but the walk was worth it. Beautiful sight.

I found a leafy path off the beaten track and as I was the lone walker it got a bit spooky. My fanciful imagination ran away with itself and I worried that little celtic pixies or leprechauns were skipping alongside me ready to drag me away into the depths of their forest never to be seen again. Luckily I made it to the waterfall unscathed.

Nevertheless, I chose to stay on the pony track on the way back and headed up towards the house. Having no interest in seeing inside I beelined straight for the gardens. A magnificent job has been done here. The grounds are immaculate, artistic and thoughtfully planted by working with nature rather than imposing their will upon it.

While loitering I was fortunate to meet both the head gardener and a local wildflower expert deep in discussion. They were attempting to identify a plant so I joined in poring over the ID book. You can take the girl out of the nursery……

They both enthusiastically imparted an awful lot of information to me about the local flora and the warm Gulf Stream that significantly enhances their climate and hence ability to grow a wider variety of species. Always a joy to meet people who love their land and their plants. Some of it stuck.

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By the time I rolled into Cork I'd still managed to do a lot of driving and was very glad I'd listened to the staff in Tralee as I was exhausted. Always listen to the locals. Look to the people!

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Speaking of listening to the locals these are a few pearls of local idiom that I have come to enjoy very much.

End every sentence with the superfluous but charming:-

So it is, so I did, so I am and so forth.

The church is at the end of the street, so it is.
I drove to Tralee, so I did.
I’m off to the pub, so I am.

Th is often pronounced as t.
I was staying in room 123. One Two Tree! Happy horti.

Thanks is always greeted with “no bother.” The equivalent of the Australian “no worries” but infinitely more charming.

Grand! Everything is grand. Not great, but grand!

A combo:-
Thank you, that’s grand. No bother. Twas my pleasure, so it was.

Wee!
Stand out favourite as I’ve been delighting in this word in both Scotland and Ireland. Small sounds like too big a word for something wee.

NEXT STOP COUNTY CORK

Poor William and his Mary, the Rose of Tralee

Ireland Files 7. Clement County Clare

ARAN ISLAND & CLIFFS OF MOHER IN COUNTY CLARE

Every day in Ireland I get out of bed and have a look out the window at the weather and every day it is grey grey and grey. Not exactly an inspiration to leap out of bed.

For the first time in a while I got my lazy travelling butt out of bed early to achieve a big day of driving and sightseeing. Galway to Tralee with a substantial detour on the way.

Jason and I headed into County Clare, to the small town of Doolin, from where they do ferry trips to the Aran Islands and the Cliffs of Moher. I got there in time but I still think Jason took some GPS liberties. It just didn’t feel right. Cheeky sod. The drive took just over over an hour winding along the coast and then up into The Burren.

THE BURREN?

When the Irish pronounce this word it sounds like burn! In the UK the word burn means stream or river. Until I saw it spelt I had no idea what the feck they were talking about.

The word Burren is taken from the Gaelic word for Great Rock and it is indeed a rocky landscape known as a karst that I am driving through. Made mostly of limestone but with random little pockets of acidity, it supports an abundance of rare alpine flora. I need to come back to have a better look at that phenomenon, and soon!

Down at the pier I was greeted by an appearance of Dusty the famous local dolphin. She is wild but likes to hang around the people at Doolin. The day before I arrived, Dusty was in the news for causing some harm to some stupid humans who got too close to her. Go Dusty!

ARAN ISLAND

Aran, as opposed to Arran in Scotland, is the home of the famous knitted sweater. Aran is in fact made up of three islands and the boat tour I chose visited just one of them, Inish Oirr (pronounced Inisheer). When I got there I found out they had horses! I opted for a ten euro horse and trap tour. I just can’t resist a horsey ride. I shared my ride with two lovely couples from New York and Atlanta.

Our trusty steed was Rosie and she was not in the best of form. The first we were alerted to her plight was when our horseman asked the men to get out and walk so Rosie could get up a small hill. Oh dear. I had the privilege of sitting up front next to the driver which also put me in prime position to share another delight. Rosie was flatulent. The poor lass apparently overate that morning and was suffering intestinally. My idyllic horse ride was punctuated by the sounds of Rosie farting and the consequent clouds of gas puffing directly into my face. At least it smelt mostly like hay. Ahh the serenity.

Rosie still warranted a hug

The journey around the parts of the island that Rosie could reach without dropping dead on us were fascinating. The one thing they have in abundance is rocks. Lots and lots of rocks as the island is part of The Burren. Ironically though, if they need gravel products it has to come from the mainland as the government won’t help them improve their infrastructure by helping them get a crusher.

According to my driver, the government is in fact against allowing them to make any changes to improve their lives, in order ostensibly to preserve the historic integrity of the town. Both a curse and a blessing. Another example is that water is in short supply and gets turned off every night at the mains to conserve it. A few water tanks wouldn’t go astray! To add insult to injury the government is about to commence charging them water and land rates.

The fences made out of stone are extraordinary and extremely labour intensive. They chip away at the huge slabs of rock that is the island bit by bit to harvest the stone to use for building. It can take years to clear just one small field for their cows. Some of the fence are more than five hundred years old and they are still chipping away at it.

It was a school holiday chore for my driver and his friends back in the day. The lament is that the young people are too busy with their play-stations these days to help. They also want to be paid for it and there is not enough money to go around. It seems to me that perhaps most of the money from tourism is not actually going to the people of the island. Life has always been pretty tough there and it seems destined to stay that way.

THE GAELTACHT

Aran is one of the few places in Ireland where the Irish language survived and is in fact the native spoken language. These areas are known as the Gaeltacht. It is a cultural treat to walk around the village and hear it spoken. These days they teach it in schools and universities around Ireland.

Fans of the very funny Father Ted TV show should recognise this rusty wreck from the opening credits. Just part of the landscape here. I was afraid I was going to bump into Father Jack and rather hoping I would bump into Mrs Doyle.

PLANTS ON ARAN

Some horti business!

Being mostly sensible and self sufficient people they use seaweed to fertilise their fields and potato crops. I wonder how they manage to have enough water to remove the salt? It didn’t occur to ask at the time.

I did manage to spot a few local gems.

Rock Samphire – Crithmum maritimum

Harebell – Campanula rotundifolia.

Aran even has its own airstrip which is fondly referred to as their international airport.

I’m not sure if this is irony, social comment or blissful ignorance. This bright orange plant next to you know who is Kniphofia, also known as Red Hot Poker. Heaven and Hell forever together.

CLIFFS OF MOHER

The day just got better with a boat trip back to the pier via the Cliffs Of Moher. The sun came out and there was only a breath of breeze. Idyllic. The water did get quite rocky though and there was much hilarity as all the passengers kept falling into each other as we attempted to take photos. It was a bonding experience. We all felt very close by the time we hit land and bid each other a fond farewell.

After standing at the top of some other high cliffs recently I really enjoyed the chance to view a similar sight from another angle. I met some people on the boat that had been on top of The Burren at the edge of those cliffs the day before and apparently it is terrifying. It is so high! 214m high and 8km long in fact. I could see some people up there but they looked no bigger than ants and they don’t show up in the photos unless I magnify them an awful lot.

After such a glorious day in I had an inglorious car drive ahead of me to County Kerry and the town Tralee. But more on that next time.

NEXT STOP TRALEE

A few more pretties

Is any hooker really happy. Apparently they call boats hookers here. Why?

Ireland Files 6. Gasping & Guinness in Galway

Leaving Super Sligo I head west to go through Magnificent Mayo as a side trip before getting to Glorious Galway. Alliteration is my bag baby.

The main attraction in County Mayo is the seaside town of Westport. The Irish Times said it was the nicest place in Ireland to live in so I thought I’d better stop and have a look. It is a cute wee tidy town, complete with duck filled canal, the usual gamut of nice pubs & shops and a picturesque harbour from whence one can visit Achill Island. I seriously have to come back to the Hebrides and just do all the islands.

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GALWAY

I’ve been looking forward to Galway as I’d heard the streets are full of traditional music. And it’s true, they are! The streets or someone that lives there are also now the new home of my favouritest warmest snuggest beanie. Lost! Despite tramping the streets and searching for more than an hour it was surely gone. As with many cities there is much poverty here so I hope a truly needy person claimed my 40 euro hat. Amazing how one small thing like losing a hat can ruin an entire day.

Galway Catholic Church disturbed the bejesus out of me. It is architecturally designed in the shape of a cross. I felt as if I’d got myself trapped inside a giant crucifix. Eek! An unpleasant sensation. Unhappily I arrived also just as mass was ending and got to hear the one god speech. The father, son and holy goat etc. It did at least have a nice stained glass I appreciated.

I thought if I waited long enough the faithful would bugger off and I’d get some peace to look around. No, no and no. The faithful made their way to little chapels off the crucifix and the church suddenly got very loud with competing laments. One chapel-full began a long and mournful hymn while the other embarked on a protracted Hail Mary session. There was no peace to be found here. I tried to sit it out, thinking they’d have to stop sometime. Nope, it just went on and on. Unable to stand it any longer I stomped noisily into the Mother’s chapel, lit a candle and wished for her sake that they would shut the hell up. Poor woman. Not a moments peace.

THE GASPING

About and hour and a half’s drive out of Galway is a grand journey towards Connemara from whence comes the green marble they use to make popular jewellery. The drive is through the Maam Valley and takes in the scenery made famous by the film The Quiet Man. It then wends through the village of Leenane that is the home of Ireland’s only fjord.

The beauty continually makes me gasp. If I keep gasping like this I fear I am going to hyperventilate. Words are again insufficient so I amuse myself making up new ones. Spectabulous, marvelificient. They don’t exactly roll off the tongue, I will have to keep working on it. Towering lumpy rolling and folding hills, heath and glistening loughs around every bend. The only dampener on my sheer and utter pleasure is getting stuck behind a pigeon pair of gigantic coaches hogging the road and going at a snails pace. Damn those coach people! The radio agreeably plays some sweeping arias and violin solos so I lose myself in the music and the view instead.

Turf cutting hmm?. A traditional practice but environmentally suspect.

THE CHURCH

In the middle of the peat cutting fields during this long drive was an extraordinary inspired building by the wayside. It looked like giant Origami. The sign said stop and pray. Alright then.

KYLEMORE ABBEY

My destination for this drive was Kylemore Abbey.

Kylemore Abbey is a grand grey building perched next to a lough, an idyllic site. The abbey was built as a home and a place of pure hedonism. I thoroughly approve of that notion. Apparently the garden once boasted a turkish bathhouse. The story has a sad ending as the gent who built it for his wife was devastated when the apple of his eye died too young from a sudden illness. In her honour he built a small and gorgeous gothic church and confusingly entombed her in a hideous mausoleum of yellow brick. He’s in there now too. Today as well as a tourist destination it is an actual abbey run by Benedictine Nuns and schools young ladies.

On my way into the grounds I was greeted on the path by two elderly gentleman who worked for the abbey and stopped for a chat, as they are wont to do. When I later greeted them along that same path this is what occurred. I take full responsibility. I started it. As my mother would say, me and my smart mouth.

Me: “You again. Is that what you do all day here, walk back and forth?”

He: “I was looking for you, so I was.”

Me: “Were you now.”

He: “So I was, how about a cuddle?”

I know I’m the happy hugging horti but do I have a stamp on my forehead?!

How could I resist! It had been days since my last hug.

Post hug, this was followed by;

He: “Come this way with us, this is where the good craic is.”

Alas I was on my way to the walled garden, my idea of good craic, so I had to bid my suitor a farewell.

The walk from the Abbey to the walled garden, 1km along a leafy path, next to another lough with views of the surrounding mountains was gorgeous. For the lazy or differently abled there is a free shuttle bus. They had these really cool musical instruments and installations for the littlies of which I had a go too!

The walled garden is more than pleasant. I was fortunate to benefit from some sudden sunshine while I visited so got to enjoy the garden in its full glory. A myriad of gardeners were industriously pruning, deadheading and doing those magical things that gardeners do to keep the garden pristine. A lovely warm space. Amazing what a few bricks and some artistry manage to achieve.

GUINNESS

Oh that’s right the Guinness. Now that I am travelling on my own again I’ve developed a little fetish. Every time I go into a bar I plonk myself right in front of the taps because I love watching when someone orders a Guinness. No quick pint here.

Guinness is an art form and is poured in Hebridean time. Time slows down as the man waits patiently for his drink. The slow settle after the first pour as the cloudy liquid slowly goes black. Then another injection and another settle. Maybe one last shot to get the foam to perfection. I’m ashamed to say that to date my experience has been scabbing sips of others pints, too afraid to tackle a whole one on my own. I’m a classy girl! I made up for it in Galway by having two. Bloody delicious stuff and I have the t-shirt to prove it. However I probably should have stuck with one if the walk back to my room was any indication.

NEXT STOP ARAN ISLAND & THE CLIFFS OF MOHER

And the usual few extra pretties and quirky pics

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Perhaps one day I will see a live one
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Looks like my kind of place

Friendly local

Another friendly local

Ireland Files 5. Super Sligo

SUPER SLIGO and WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS

More than a little bleary eyed from the previous nights unexpected revelry I embarked on my next leg to County Sligo. County Sligo was beloved by the poet WB Yeats and the county surely loves him in return. Continuing on what seems to have become my poets trail:- Keats & Shelley in Rome, Robert Burns in Ayr, now Yeats in Sligo, off I go.

But first on a tip once again from the fabulous Bundoran tourist office I embarked on a little side trip called the Gleniff Horseshoe. A spectacular circular drive up through Yeats country. It was raining of course but it only added to the ambience. Grand hills shrouded by mist, heather, sheep, waterfalls and streams. Moody and magic.

The late great WB Yeats is one of my all time favourite poets. The poor fella died in France during the war and it wasn’t until peace time that his remains were moved to where he wished. The landscape here is the inspiration for much of his poetry. The graveyard of Drumcliffe in County Sligo, where his great grandpa was once a rector, is his chosen final resting place.

WB very sensibly wrote his own epitaph and the simple grave is near the front door of the church.

Cast a cold Eye
On Life, on Death
Horseman, pass by!

Poetic and enigmatic to the end.

After visiting his grave I somehow managed to get the sweet wee church all to myself for about fifteen minutes. Bizarre considering how packed the graveyard was with fellow pilgrims, not to mention an entire coach load of Japanese! Peaceful, warm little building with pretty mosaic stained glass.

Following in the poet’s footsteps I then visited the beautiful Glencar Waterfall WB was so fond of. The drive to the waterfall is simply gorgeous along a narrow lane amidst grand mountains and the sparkling lough.

In Sligo town, there is yet another stand out tourist office manned by the beautiful Aoife (Eve in Irish). Tourist offices really have been THE most useful tool for me while travelling. Knowledgeable Aoife sorted some very important accommodation for me further down the track. Anyway, next door to the office is a little museum/society devoted to WB that by contrast spectacularly bored me. A shame. Could use a bit of a gussy up. Perhaps they need to go and visit Robert Burns for some ideas.

In the centre of town is a brilliant and whimsical sculpture of WB. If only I’d had someone with me so I could have got a photograph of me hugging it. Definitely has hug appeal. On closer inspection one can see that the statue is etched with excerpts from his beautiful poems. Inspired!

One of my favourite excerpts here. When you are old and gray and full of sleep, nodding…..

Continuing on the Yeats theme, in a superb gallery down the road called The Model was an exhibition of paintings by Yeats brother. Yeatsville, Yeatsburg, Yeatstown!

TUBBERCURRY

Just outside Sligo is the little town of Tubbercurry and I ended up there because once again I couldn’t get the accommodation I wanted in Sligo town. Damn this summer high season! I ended up in this little village in a great hotel with great staff and friendly locals but kind of a nothing town. It is however close to lots of other towns that do have things to see and do.

While I’ve been traveling I’ve developed a few rules of travel that I all too often break. These are just a few:-

Back up photos every day.
Blog every other day.
Get out and do something everyday no matter low one feels.
Wash undies and socks often! Running out of clean ones is never good, nobody wins.
Lock every bag every time you leave the hotel.
Always be nice to the cleaning staff. They are the ones left alone with your stuff!

I’m battling a little ear infection but instead of wallowing as was my inclination, I instead took my own advice for once, got in the car and headed back a little way north in search of ancient graves. Find them I did but I had to climb the bloody big Knocknarea Mountain to get there. No pain, no gain.

Queen Maeve, queen of myth and legend, has a humungous rocky cairn above her remains. A small mountain on top of a mountain. I could see it from miles away when on the highway. Heart thumping and gasping like an old goat I finally made it to the top. Gasp-worthy! An awesome sight awaited not to mention a spectacular 360 degree view.

The scary thing I’ve discovered about myself is that I really haven’t got any smarter while I’ve been travelling. It has rained in Ireland nearly every day I’ve been here and somehow I manage to be without my umbrella or poncho when I need it. I got more than a bit damp in bitter rain on the descent.

At the foot of the mountain is the very cute little seaside town of Strandhill. Surfing beach, golf course, great pubs and another one of those super seaweed spas. What’s not to love? Wish I’d stayed here!

Back down the road again is some more ancient cairns, Carrowmore Megalithic Cemetery. It is the largest collection of cairns in Ireland and is dated from 5500 to 6500 years old. Surprise, surprise it was still raining and as I didn’t fancy traipsing through a sodden field in the rain, I cheated and stood on a fence for a quick pic and made my exit. Bummer.

NEXT STOP COUNTY GALWAY

But first, of course, a few more pretties

The Drumcliffe graveyard also has this beautiful 11th Century High Cross

Adding to the ambience at Glencar Waterfall

Glowing Green

A few of the locals

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A gasp worthy view

Ireland Files 4. Dearest Donegal

DONEGAL COUNTY

Moving on from Derry I drove straight into County Donegal.

Wanting to stay in Donegal but once again unable to get accommodation I opted for Bundoran about 20 minutes further down the road. So pleased. Bundoran is a seaside town and my hotel view was directly onto the ocean complete with pub downstairs. Happy horti.

But first I had to get there.

I’m officially in Ireland proper now, not the UK, so out come the euros. I was almost disappointed there was no formal border to know when I’d arrived, or maybe left as it were! The support for the ongoing struggle for independence in Northern Ireland is evident even in the bars. They equate the martyrs of Northern Ireland with Che Guevera and Nelson Mandela and their faces are often together in posters and murals. Fighters for freedom all.

BELTANY STONE CIRCLE

Standing stones fascinate me so I couldn’t pass up the chance to visit one. Leaving Derry and heading towards Letterkenny but off the beaten track at Raphoe, this circle is in a farmers field with a spectacular view. The path to the field is suitably Celtic and mystical along a path canopied by Rowan trees and ivy. Car park deserted and all alone, I was excited to experience this old holy place on my own. Oh no, as luck would have it, the farmer was there mending fences. Kind of ruined the magic. A rude dose of modern mundanity. In any case, this ancient circle, whilst not as grand as Stonehenge, has been dated as older. Glad I made the effort.

GLENVEAGH NATIONAL PARK

The route I chose passed through the Glenveagh National Park, a drive through the Irish equivalent of the highlands, an emerald green moonscape with sweeping hills and fields of heather. Spectacular. The park boasts the largest herd of red deer in Ireland not to mention a famous garden. It was raining of course so I managed a quick pic of the lough (Irish for lake), peeked into the visitors centre, saw a stuffed deer and got the hell out of there.

Not long after I saw a signpost for the Poisoned Glen and I just had to go there! Said glen was completely enveloped in mist and rain so I turned back at the spooky and rumoured to be haunted ruins of Dunlewy Church. The church was not sign posted so full kudos goes to Shane of the Bundoran Tourist Office for solving the mystery.

ROWAN TREE

One very impressive aspect of the park that I did get to see was an espalier archway of Rowan Trees. Sorbus species are also known as both Rowan and Mountain Ash. I’ve been seeing these trees with their distinctive orange berries throughout this part of the world but nowhere as prolific as here.

It is a joy just to drive around here, the scenery is so spectacular. I’ve found a fantastic classical station so the view has a suitably majestic soundtrack. Enhancing the experience is my new GPS who has already gone through three incarnations. She began as a chirpy female American but that wasn’t what I was looking for in a travel companion. My copilot for the Causeway drive found with great glee a female Australian voice we called Kylie, Sharon, Shazza, Sheila and something else I forget. Imagine my surprise when Kylie suddenly became Jason! He thought I needed bit of male company for my solo female drive around Ireland. He might be right.

Wise to the wily ways of navigational aids after the diabolical Swiss/France/Italy drive I know when to ignore the canny bastard and follow my instincts. They do have a penchant for long detours and Jason has had a crack a few times. It was suggested to me by a dear friend back home that all the GPS’s got together at the end of the day in some cyber bar to laugh about the navigational pranks they pulled on unsuspecting tourists. I bet they bloody do.

SLIEVE LEAGUE

Oh my, this place is gorgeous. Another contender for the title of there being no words in my thesaurus to adequately describe its beauty. I had to back track to Donegal Town and then drive down another exquisite coastline to reach it. What none of the tourist brochures told me is how absolutely hair raising the final parts of the journey would be. A goat track of a road. Perhaps sheep track is more pertinent given the location. Barely enough room for two cars to pass. Thankfully I’ve got the necessary experience after my driver training in the hills behind Byron Bay. I got skills!

Tigger returned when I finally arrived as I got to bounce again on some of that squishy heath and climb a hill that once again reminded of how unhealthy I have become. Cardio and lung capacity are suffering after all play and no work! Oh boy.

ABBEY ASSAROE

On a hot tip from Shane at the local tourist office I headed to this little ruined abbey just outside town. The abbey was nice but nearby were two places even more special.

Behind the abbey is a mossy leafy path winding alongside a stream that leads to an open glade. The glade comes complete with the mysterious Catsby Cave that once held secret religious ceremonies.

Back up the road I found a sign to St Patricks Well. The path led down to the lough and a rowan tree bedecked with ribbons. I missed the annual rite held there by just one week where pilgrims place stones on five bigger stones saying whilst saying a Christian prayer. They then tie a “token” on the tree. Has pagan written all over it. One of those things the Christians appropriated. I did a belated bastardised Byron Bay hippy version navigating around the tree three times wishing my nearest and dearest well. You’re welcome.

SEAWEED

Back in Bundoran after a huge day of sightseeing I headed to the local spa right next door to an awesome indoor heated waterworld for the kiddies. Oh my this was an experience. I’d seen seaweed baths referred to in a few places around the country and I finally landed in a town with one. For 25 euros one gets a steam in a very civilised upright steam chair for 15 minutes followed by a bath in a claw footed tub furnished with locally harvested seaweed.

One is encouraged to scrub oneself with seaweed to extract all the healing properties. Then when the hour is up, one has a refreshing cold shower of fresh seawater to close the pores. One feels like a mermaid wallowing in seaweed and then emerges as a woman reborn. Salty fishy goodness. I know I said mermaid but I really felt more like a seal. Bark bark. I do feel awesome though. I’m converted!

Seaweed is a plant so it is about time I did a bit of horti business. Since we don’t actually cultivate it in our neck of the woods I’m more interested in the health aspects of the plant. The brochure informs me that seawater and seaweed therapy remove toxins from the body and replace it with depleted mineral salts like Iodine and Potassium. If I indulge often enough I’ll be free of tension, muscle pain and fatigue, be thinner and have fabulous circulation. Bring it on! Sushi anyone?

On my last night in Bundoran I got adopted by a wonderful retired Scottish couple from my hotel, taking pity on the lonely travelling woman that I am, and got taken out for dinner and drinks. Thinking, given the age group, I was a shoe in for an early night I eagerly agreed. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Some Irish of similar vintage joined us and the combined Hebridean tribe meant it was nearly 2am before I was safely tucked in bed. Boozy! Undid all that detoxifying I did in the seaweed spa.

NEXT STOP COUNTY SLIGO

A few more pics

Lone sheep contemplating the view, life, the universe and heather

Random street wisdom at a crossroads

Ireland Files 3. Delightful Derry

DERRY

The Walled City, Londonderry, City of Culture,City of Two Churches, Doire.

So many names for one troubled but beautiful city.

The Guild Hall. Once was bombed, all good now!

Taken from the Gaelic Doire meaning Oak tree or grove, this town has seen more than its fair share of “the troubles”. Not dissimilar to Belfast, the divide persists and the murals paint the sad history.

The two murals that affected me the most were side by side. The first was of a young female member of parliament who whacked a fellow but objectionable parliamentarian in the head for saying something inexcusably misogynistic. She spent six months in prison for the crime as when questioned in court about it she was only apologetic she hadn’t killed the .. (insert bad word). My kind of girl!! A fierce woman. Grrrr.

The other mural made me cry. A young girl on her way to school shot by a policeman. She was the 100th victim of the troubles. Her traumatised father spent every remaining day of his life in front of the mural talking to her. Tragic.

Derry has come a long way since then and this is their beautiful peace bridge linking the city over the River Foyle

FLEADH CHEOIL

I arrived in Derry just in time for the last night of this festival. Pronounced Fla Co (or something like that), it is a traditional music festival usually held in Ireland (the south that is). This a huge deal!!

For the first time this tradition has crossed the troubled border for 8 days of musical culture happily coinciding with Ireland’s year of The Gathering. Ireland she be calling her people home. I be hearing the call to be sure, to be sure. Derry is reputedly the home of one of my forefathers so it is a very happy accident that I am here for the final evening of this most historic of occasions.

The streets are electric! Food, stalls, marching bands and sensibly designated drinking areas with crowds swelled to over 430,000 of the 300,000 expected. All the bars have traditional music going inside and out. Spontaneous gatherings of musicians occurred everywhere. It seemed like every second person had an instrument strapped to their back. One of the most heartening things is how many young people were on the streets sharing their prodigious skills.

The next day I had a wander around town chatting to the people. The extraordinary thing was the mood of the town. Given the history, the expectation sadly had been pessimistic. Violence or trouble of some kind was anticipated. Instead the entire week was joyful and trouble free. The city awoke the day after the grand finale with a new positivity for continued peace and hope for the future. It was a privilege to witness and be in some small way a part of.

WALKING THE WALLS

A bit mystified by the city walls and totally over reading tourist brochures I opted to do a walking tour. So glad I did. The tour comes highly recommended by travel experts and with good reason. Informative, funny and tragic tour conducted by passionate local guides. A crash course in ancient and modern history from which I got most of my information for this post. My apologies for any factual inaccuracies. My group was blessed with the wonderful Girvan who thinks he has the best job in the world. As well as his job as tour guide he gave us some worldly spiritual advice. He told us that not matter how sad the occasion, always look for the funny side! Hear hear.

CHURCHES

In order to show no bias (however I just can’t bring myself to call the town anything but Derry) I visited the Protestant, Anglican (also known as the Wee Church) and the Catholic Church. So much trouble over bloody religion and state.

The Wee Church

NEXT STOP DONEGAL COUNTY

A few more pics

Prepared for trouble but trouble stayed away

Long live and love the Fleadh

A beautiful mural designed by a joint collaboration between Catholic and Protestant school children. The Oak Leaf symbol of Derry combined with a Peace Dove. Out of the mouths of babes…..

Ireland Files 2. Causeway Coast

CAUSEWAY COAST

Leaving Belfast behind and with more than a little trepidation I picked up a hire car to embark on my driving Ireland adventure. I haven’t driven in about 4 months and was fearful I’d forgotten. Be afraid Ireland, be very afraid! At least it is on same side of the road here. Definitely more than a bit rusty, I survived my first outing, a short drive from Belfast to Larne to meet my friend from Scotland who came with me the weekend.

Larne is one of the ports the ferries from Scotland arrive in. Roadworks made the drive less fun and I was seriously bamboozled by the fact that my car’s speedometer is in kilometres and the road signs are in miles! The first thing I did when I stopped was download a conversion app on my phone as I had no idea how fast I was driving. Long live the app! Am seriously hoping that the other drivers weren’t idiots and by choosing to keep speed with them I’ve hopefully avoided a ticket. I guess I’ll find out when I drop the car back.

The drive from Larne along the Causeway Coast is, I learned by that wondrous font of information that is the Internet, one of the top 5 drives of the world. I would have to concur. It sure is achingly beautiful. The road winds directly along the coast and there are loads of picturesque towns to stop in along the way. Ireland is in fact emerald. It’s true! When the sun shines down on the green fields it really and truly glows emerald. Magic.

CARRICK A REDE BRIDGE

A rope bridge used by fisherman for years and now governed by the National Trust. The weather was good and the rope bridge was much sturdier than the hype had led me to believe. Not even a bit scary. The crowds were plentiful but we managed to cross before the horde became too large. The scenery here is some of the most beautiful I’ve seen anywhere. Steep white cliffs, emerald green grass, crystal clear aqua blue water and the weather was glorious.

THE GIANTS CAUSEWAY

Finn, Finn McCool that it is. This world heritage sight is spectacular. Another day in my travels when a thesaurus is inadequate to describe the beauty. The fantastical rock formations are woven into the legend of Finn McCool. I chose not to discover the actual scientific explanation for this incredible place as the legend is much more fun. If I had managed to make the ocean tour at the Isle of Mull a while back I would have been at the other end of this rock formation that heads through the sea all the way to Scotland. Amazing!

Hmmm, what shall I wish for……

Feeling on top of things

THE DARK HEDGES

I first saw a picture of these trees in a tourist brochure. It made me do one of those horticultural gasps common to us hortis. GASP! I just had to go. A little way inland in Ballymoney off the Causeway Coast in a wee side lane. (I hereby reserve the right to start the local idiom “wee” freely and often. It really does describe something better than the word small!)

The hedges are not easy to find as there are no signs, but find it we did with the help of some locals. Best enjoyed at dusk it is beautiful at any time of day. These old gnarled Beech trees, Fagus sylvatica, with limbs intertwining across the lane have a spooky legend attached. The grey lady is said to appear at dusk and wander amongst the hedges. Okay, so the trees are too big and spacious to be called what we currently define as a hedge but the name fits. I was one happy horti. I hugged a couple, climbed one and even busted out a couple of cartwheels. It’s been a while! The only thing I didn’t enjoy was the evidence of the persistent need for people to mark their territory by carving into trees. Makes me cross!

I know, I know I’m smiling, I was having an awesome day, but it does upset me.

PORTRUSH

A little further up the road is this great little seaside town full of packed restaurants and pubs. We headed downtown for an evening of dinner and dancing. Make that dinner, dancing and getting absolutely smashed on way too much beer and scotch. Oh the day after remorse. No photo evidence thank god!

NEXT STOP DERRY

But first a few more pretties…..

A huggable rock formation

Beech tree love

Ireland Files 1. Brilliant Bloody Belfast

Belfast!

Ireland has a lot to live up to after the Scotland experience and my first impressions weren’t too hot. It started pissing down with rain the second I disembarked. My taxi driver quickly redeemed the country with an hilarious drive to my accom. Spirits plummeted again quickly when my new host greeted me with a miserable look and cursorily showed me my new digs. I think she was a wee bit unhappy with her lot in life. The house was littered with dusty yet effusive Thank you cards from former occupants enthusing about the generous nature of said hosts? Perhaps I just caught her on a bad day or perhaps she just didn’t like the look of me. It’s been known to happen.

Blessedly I only had the one night booked with Mrs Sweetness and Light and landed the next morning on the doorstop of a woman who put her to shame. A warm Irish welcome was extended to me as the door flew open and I was bustled into the kitchen, offered a cup of tea and even a pancake all at a hundred miles an hour. I left the house with an Irish song in my heart and a jig in my step as I headed out to meet Belfast.

Belfast has one of the best tourist information centres I’ve ever been. I left literally laden down with maps and guide books for both parts of this still torn country. They are a very giving people. Humorously, the north and south of Ireland are represented by two separate counters on opposite sides of the room. And never the twain shall meet!

On my own again I opt for the bus tour complete with likeable live guides. I missed a bus and the boss personally drove me to the Titanic museum so I got there in time for my tour. Now that’s service.

The Titanic museum is brilliant. I had low expectations and was happy to be disproved. Firstly the location down on the docks where it was actually built, a semi desolate industrial region, and secondly the architecture of the building, together really capture the legend. But its story is not just about the Titanic, its story is the story of Belfast and her people. The lives and times (and deaths) of the linen, rope and industrial trades. The whole tour was fascinating and suitable for the kiddies too as it had some really great interactive features. I left a little overwhelmed and emotional.

THE TROUBLES

The next part of the tour took me through the sites of “the troubles”. Apparently the times are more peaceful but it still looks very much like a war zone to me. Finding myself largely ignorant of current affairs in these parts I was truly shocked to find that the divided sides still live separated by a fence worthy of a detention centre that is closed at night at curfew by formidable yellow gates.

The fence or “peace wall” has as its only redeeming feature the incredible artwork and graffiti it has inspired. The drive around the area is a real eye opener with the British Protestant flags flying on every available space and the Irish Catholic side being largely devoid of any kind of decoration. Both sides have incredible murals and memorials dedicated to their dead.

The streets are littered with evidence of past and current strife; vacant lots, debris, piles of ash and broken windows. It probably doesn’t help that they all packed like sardines into tiny miserable tenement housing. The court house is a burnt out ruin, the police stations are veritable fortresses and the police cars look like tanks. A sad sad place. God bless Australia.

PUBS

I’ve been travelling alone for a while now and mostly comfortable wandering into pubs alone. The first pub in the suburbs was my only cold experience. They’d nought be used to the female folk in there.

After that I stuck to the pubs in the city centre. Garricks, Morningstar (which had a female Aussie publican) and the John Hewitt. Sadly I missed the pub with McNasty in the name, I can only imagine. Sounds like my kind of place. Everyone everywhere was super chatty and it was difficult to have a quiet ale without making a friend. I made a few. As I do.

BELFAST CASTLE

Belfast has a castle, sort of, it is really more of a house, but it does command a fantastic view of the city. My impression is that these days it is mostly used as a wedding venue. The pub and restaurant has cold beer and good food so I was happy.

The gardens are small but lovely and have employed a really neat trick. Around the garden are nine cats in different forms and the task for visitors is to hunt them out. Young and old alike readily embark on the quest. I’m ashamed to say I only found 6. I didn’t look at the chairs and apparently that is where they are to be found. Doh! The garden also has a sign saying no dogs allowed.

Pussy 1

Pussy 2

Pussy 3

The result is genius in its simplicity as it forces people to really look at the garden. To my nerdy horticultural delight as I watched them hunt, the people stopped and noticed flowers and leaves and other features of the garden. Clever.

Pussy more

WATERWORKS

The former waterworks, and still going by that name today, is a fantastic green space out in the suburbs. Fantastic area with water (obviously), bird life, walking tracks, kids play ground and for the couple of days I resided near it, it was obviously in constant use. Without it would be a bleak part of town indeed.

BOTANIC GARDENS

Botanic gardens is a term I use here very loosely. It really is more of a park with a glasshouse and some flower beds. The glasshouse is reputedly the first of its kind in the UK. Good for them but it doesn’t seem to have changed much since. The plants inside are all in pots and whilst exotic to these parts it just look like my shade house in the nursery back in Australia. There is a nice rose garden and other flower beds but nothing special.

Inside the park is the Ulster Museum which has some wonderful examples of Irish painters and a powerful exhibition on “The Troubles“. In between was a lot of educational, historical and scientific exhibits full of happy noisy kids that I sped through. The Troubles is the final exhibit and left me feeling down. So much anger, violence and death. Off to the pub! A pint will cure what ails me.

I got caught in a drenching shower and got absolutely soaked. Belfast has plenty to see but the rain got the better of me and I headed back to my cosy temporary Irish home to catch up on my blogging. Only a lot late! My week or so in Scotland turned into about 27 days and blogging requires the convergence of time, inspiration, inclination and reliable wifi. It never happened until I left. A very distracting country.

WHAT I MISSED
Live music. At night the city centre seems to shut right down and despite how bright it still is I never felt comfortable wandering around on my own so I missed the night life on offer. Bummer. It’s meant to be grand.

THE MAC, their brand new arts venue and all the cathedrals.

THE CHURCHES
I felt a bit loath to visit any churches considering all the troubles over religion and state.

NEXT STOP Giants Causeway and Derry

A few more pretties and not so pretties

Former court house. Justice is missing her scales

One last pussy!