Words are worth a thousand pictures: Part III
Sunday Morning:
The next morning I ate my breakfast (actually, I had cereal and wrapped my breakfast [fried egg and rasher] up for later) and got back on the road. Along the way I picked some wild flowers – one of the kids from yesterday had identified a beautiful flower called Fox Glove and noted it only blooms for one week. I was very glad that I was lucky enough to be here when they are in bloom. The Fox Glove has bell-like blooms that ‘fall’ from the stalk smaller on top and growing larger towards the bottom. My little Wild Irish Garden included a small, yellow flower with waxy petals, honeysuckle, daisy, fern, fuchsia, bog rushes and several others that I couldn’t identify. They all went into a used coffee cup and kept me company the rest of my trip.
My drive this morning took me around the Ring of Beara. This is the smaller of the southwest peninsulas but what beauty! I crawled around an abandoned building, skirted the coast and followed some signs to a stone ring/circle (also known as ‘dolmen’). The circle was small but no less impressive when one is reminded that these stones (sometimes weighing up to 10 tons) were hacked out, moved and placed with precision to the solstice sun – all without the use of power tools or moving equipment. whoa.
The road to the dolmen left me no room to turn around so I just kept going in hopes that it would eventually hook up to the main road. This being a peninsula I figured my prospects were pretty good. This side trip turned out to be one of the more beautiful views of the Irish countryside I’d yet to experience. At one point I came around a steep curve and found myself in what seemed like an abandoned village. Several large stone homes closely scattered thru a small valley – no roofs, no windows - but still I was given the impression of a neighborhood. (Later reflection with my host brought to mind the Great Famine and how whole villages could be wiped out. another whoa.) I finally made it back out to the road and finished the ring and then up to Kenmare and Killarny.
It was somewhere between Kenmare and Killarney when I got the ultimate Irish experience. A farmer was moving his cows to the next pasture by shaking a bucket of oats at them to follow. They did. Right past my car. At one point they all moved towards my car and the lead cow tried to look into my window as if to say, “Have you anything to eat? that guy’s too far away”. Does it get anymore Irish than that?
I decided to get the sleeping amenities out of the way first and found myself driving thru the Muckross countryside looking for the Peacock Farm Hostel. I was having some trouble finding the road so I turned back to ask a local for directions. I found an old man trimming his hedge and stopped to ask. We talked for a good 15 minutes after he’d given me the directions and before I took off he asked, “So, would you be having a cup of tea, then”? I briefly considered it but then declined in favor of finding the hostel before dark – but that might’ve made for a fine addition to this story, eh?
Peacock Farm was true to its name with a Peacock named Randy, some of his brood, a few ducks and a pond filled with trout and koi. For 10 euro I got a nice bed, a gorgeous view of the Killarny valley and an alarm clock that sounded a lot like a peacock.
I dropped off my things and was ready for my afternoon. I drove back thru the Killarny National Park(never stops being gorgeous) and headed along the Ring of Kerry. I wasn’t able to do the entire ring and so, once again found the road less traveled. So much so that it became nothing more than tire tracks for awhile. It was late when I finally got to Killarny – too late for the stores to be open but not late enough for the music to begin so I thought I’d busy myself with some window shopping while, once again, I looked for the ‘ceol agus craic’.
My browsing took me to a pub that said “session tonight”. I asked at the bar if anyone could join in and the bartender said yes and pointed to the guy playing banjo. I introduced myself and asked if I could join him. He was happy for the company and I was happy for a chance to play in a session in Killarny. When I came back with my mandolin he was still sitting alone. I sat down and we started swapping tunes. We swapped tunes for the rest of the evening – just he and I. We played trad tunes, non-trad tunes, my tunes, his tunes, folk tunes, rock tunes and generally supplied the ceol agus craic to the bar patrons.
Thanks to Patrick for the music and Michael for the Guiness!
The next morning I ate my breakfast (actually, I had cereal and wrapped my breakfast [fried egg and rasher] up for later) and got back on the road. Along the way I picked some wild flowers – one of the kids from yesterday had identified a beautiful flower called Fox Glove and noted it only blooms for one week. I was very glad that I was lucky enough to be here when they are in bloom. The Fox Glove has bell-like blooms that ‘fall’ from the stalk smaller on top and growing larger towards the bottom. My little Wild Irish Garden included a small, yellow flower with waxy petals, honeysuckle, daisy, fern, fuchsia, bog rushes and several others that I couldn’t identify. They all went into a used coffee cup and kept me company the rest of my trip.
My drive this morning took me around the Ring of Beara. This is the smaller of the southwest peninsulas but what beauty! I crawled around an abandoned building, skirted the coast and followed some signs to a stone ring/circle (also known as ‘dolmen’). The circle was small but no less impressive when one is reminded that these stones (sometimes weighing up to 10 tons) were hacked out, moved and placed with precision to the solstice sun – all without the use of power tools or moving equipment. whoa.
The road to the dolmen left me no room to turn around so I just kept going in hopes that it would eventually hook up to the main road. This being a peninsula I figured my prospects were pretty good. This side trip turned out to be one of the more beautiful views of the Irish countryside I’d yet to experience. At one point I came around a steep curve and found myself in what seemed like an abandoned village. Several large stone homes closely scattered thru a small valley – no roofs, no windows - but still I was given the impression of a neighborhood. (Later reflection with my host brought to mind the Great Famine and how whole villages could be wiped out. another whoa.) I finally made it back out to the road and finished the ring and then up to Kenmare and Killarny.
It was somewhere between Kenmare and Killarney when I got the ultimate Irish experience. A farmer was moving his cows to the next pasture by shaking a bucket of oats at them to follow. They did. Right past my car. At one point they all moved towards my car and the lead cow tried to look into my window as if to say, “Have you anything to eat? that guy’s too far away”. Does it get anymore Irish than that?
I decided to get the sleeping amenities out of the way first and found myself driving thru the Muckross countryside looking for the Peacock Farm Hostel. I was having some trouble finding the road so I turned back to ask a local for directions. I found an old man trimming his hedge and stopped to ask. We talked for a good 15 minutes after he’d given me the directions and before I took off he asked, “So, would you be having a cup of tea, then”? I briefly considered it but then declined in favor of finding the hostel before dark – but that might’ve made for a fine addition to this story, eh?
Peacock Farm was true to its name with a Peacock named Randy, some of his brood, a few ducks and a pond filled with trout and koi. For 10 euro I got a nice bed, a gorgeous view of the Killarny valley and an alarm clock that sounded a lot like a peacock.
I dropped off my things and was ready for my afternoon. I drove back thru the Killarny National Park(never stops being gorgeous) and headed along the Ring of Kerry. I wasn’t able to do the entire ring and so, once again found the road less traveled. So much so that it became nothing more than tire tracks for awhile. It was late when I finally got to Killarny – too late for the stores to be open but not late enough for the music to begin so I thought I’d busy myself with some window shopping while, once again, I looked for the ‘ceol agus craic’.
My browsing took me to a pub that said “session tonight”. I asked at the bar if anyone could join in and the bartender said yes and pointed to the guy playing banjo. I introduced myself and asked if I could join him. He was happy for the company and I was happy for a chance to play in a session in Killarny. When I came back with my mandolin he was still sitting alone. I sat down and we started swapping tunes. We swapped tunes for the rest of the evening – just he and I. We played trad tunes, non-trad tunes, my tunes, his tunes, folk tunes, rock tunes and generally supplied the ceol agus craic to the bar patrons.
Thanks to Patrick for the music and Michael for the Guiness!
1 Comments:
Hey darlin, your words did conjure up a thousand pictures..thanx!
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