The Irish have a ...a word ... or a saying ... or a song ... for it!

We have returned to the States after one of our top 2 trips! We are not returning empty-handed ... that extra suitcase that folds into itself came in mighty handy. Plus, I came home with a few Irish sayings. Unfortunately, I've forgotten too many of them. (Which reminds me that "too far" is an Irish affliction. And if "too far" means that they can't visit the wild and woolly West Coast of Ireland ... "too bad" is the answer!) 

Here are some of the favorites ... feel free to add your own in the comments. In the meantime, Erin Go Bragh ... and I have one final  post but it will be a few days to "settle" and take a retrospective view!

Phrases we heard ... yep, even the long ones!

May those who love us love us.
And those that don't love us,
May God turn their hearts.
And if He doesn't turn their hearts,
May he turn their ankles,
So we'll know them by their limping.

May your glass be ever full.
May the roof over your head be always strong.
And may you be in heaven half an hour before the devil knows you're dead.

I could have bought it for half of nothing. 

I may not be tall but but my voice is the tallest in the room (spoken by someone encouraging another Irishman to sing). 

May the Good Lord take a liking to you,
... but not too soon!

'Tis better to buy a small bouquet
And give to your friend this very day,
Than a bushel of roses white and red

To lay on his coffin after he's dead.

We cannot share this sorrow
If we haven't grieved a while.
Nor can we feel another's joy
Until we've learned to smile.

And my absolute favorite ... given how much tea we drank during our sojourn ... 

Life is like a cup of tea,
It's all in how you make it!

A is for ...

On a particularly long drive day, the four of us talked about childhood vacations, including the games played and songs sung. It was an easy transition to creating this alphabet memorializing our holiday. Enjoy! 

A  is for ... ales, all types, all colors, many craft-brewed in the towns where we stayed. 

B is for ...  Beara, the Ring of Beara (see post!). Also for the Burran--we guessed that its name was an interpretation of the word barren since the landscape is that bleak, but instead is from the Gaelic for a rocky place.

C is for ... chips, the best of which were tasted at Fishy Fishy Cafe in Kinsale (yes, to us ... French fries). Also for the medieval castle near our hotel in Trim (the Castle Hotel, natch) where parts of "Braveheart" were filmed. It's also for the Chart House on Kinsale harbour, a lovely place to stay. And finally ... it's for all things Celtic. 

D is for ... Dublin, full of galleries, pubs, Guinness, pubs (what ... something redundant) and Trinity College. And it is for Druids ... when you're on the western coast you can nearly believe the guidebook that states ... "Druids Overlook." Yes!

E is for ... Eyreis, which is an amazing village (winning the Tidy Town award for the umpteenth year in a row) on the road that is the Ring of Beara. 

F is for ... the fascinators, which were tempting Jean and me with their artful arrangement in a Kenmare store window ... and then on the aristocratic heads at the Royal Ascot (seen on BBC1). 

G is for ... Guinness. 'Nuff said. 

H is for ... harp. The symbol of Ireland ... because of Brian Boru's harp and not because it's on a pint of Guinness. It's also for the headlands, which we saw in any number of places ... as we hugged the Atlantic coast road on many days of our drive. 

I is for ... Ireland, of course, but then Ishne Mor, the largest of the 3 "ish" islands that make up the Arran Isles. It is also for Insomnia ... no, not mine but the best name for a coffee shop ever! 

J is for ... the latecoming letter to the Gaelic language, not occurring in the original Gaelic words but used for English "loan words" such as jab. (Who knew?) 

K is for ...  Kells (the Book of  ...) at Trinity College. And also, Kinsale, Kenmare, Kerry ... all of which we will visit again. 

L is for ... Lamikins, who went with us everywhere and whose photographic journey will be captured for generations to come. (A sneak peak is included below.)* 

M is for ... Morgans ... the cars, although not made in Ireland, they were en masse at a road rally being held in Glengarriff (just before the Caha pass ... what views!). 

N is for ... the "N" roads, which are more closely aligned to "B" roads in Scotland, meaning ... not much road. Having said that, we spent more time on the L's that had four digits and if you're not careful ... with have a hyphen and 2 more digits. But John did a great job and seemed to love the Lemans feel to it all. 

O is for ... O'Casey, Sean, the great Irish dramatist. And for the other O's in Ireland (like O'Leary, for example). O's are nearly as common as Smiths in the U.S. 

P is for ...  Pale, the area of Ireland that stretches from Dublin to Drogheda, which was the area of English rule at one time or another until the mid-1920's. And it is from this that we get the expression "Beyond the pale" ... 

Q is for ... for nothing. Really. The Irish do NOT have a word for it if it must begin with a Q since there is NO Q in Gaelic. 

R is for ... rings ...  the Rings of  Beara and Kerry, stone circles ... and a few that made their way to Jean and Christine's fingers. 

S  is for ...  the scones that began nearly every morning's repast. But it also refers to the swans near the shore of the Atlantic Ocean ... just a "stone's throw" from our cottage in Ballyvaughan.  S is also for self-catering ... meaning we were in charge of the house. We managed to cook some meals in ... however tempting it was to eat out 3 times a day. It's also for Irish silver ... highly addictive. 

T is for ... Trim ... our last stop on our interary. Not the most lyrical of names but clearly the most luxurious of all our stays. Also the place that tied up all the "loose ends" of the trip and sent us home with a warm, loving feeling. 

U is for ... Ulysses ... the best of James Joyce's writings as far as the car was concerned. 

V is for ... the soccer/football match of England v. Scotland, the first one played on Irish soil in 20 years ... due to the escapades of the English hooligans in 1995. 

W is for ... Wilde, Oscar, perhaps the greatest humorist of all time ... and certainly the greatest produced by Ireland. Ireland tends to produce two types of writers ... and individuals .. those who interject humor into everything (I cite you our cab drivers) and those who are filled with angst. And wool ... of course. I capitulated and bought an Arran sweater. Expect a mild winter now, my friends. And the Wild Atlantic Way ... read about it ... it was amazing. 

X is for ... Guinness EXtra Stout (yes we know that's reaching, if not downright cheating). 

Y is for ... Yeats, William Butler. The country was celebrating the 150th anniversary of his birth (no, didn't know this before we left home) and I loved that. Not sure about the other 3 but they humored me. 

Z is for ...  Zebra crossings. Not pronounced like the animal (not as the US pronounces it at any rate) and a left-over from England but an efficient way to cross busy streets. But be sure to look the proper .way .... right, left, right. It's always a surprise when the car comes up on the right ... 

*In a few weeks, there will be a proper travelogue based on Lamikins' journeys ... she's been to the Guinness storehouse, ridden the boat to the Cliffs of Moher ... to name just two of the close to 100 places where she's been photographed. The photo below was taken from our third floor open air veranda, across from the castle in Trim. John and Jean's skills are easily seen as Lamikins (slightly worse for the wear after 2 weeks of  traveling) is pictured as the Lord of her Castle ... with the castle in the background. 

A bird cannot fly on only one wing --Part 2

Few things seem as strictly Irish as their dancing, singing, and music. (But even as I write it ... I realize that the Irish search for their own nation was based on the fact that everything about their culture ... music, language, camaraderie ... is strictly Irish. Their food might be the sole exception  ... leaning toward England a bit but their emphasis on seafood puts even their food in a separate category.) 

Along the way, we'd heard bits and pieces of Irish music ... and Jean and I had insisted on buying a CD to play as we toured the Ring of Beara. But our "boyos" weren't all that interested in music and so it quickly moved to the bottom of the list. In reading about Trim, I found that they had some of the oldest and finest pubs in the country ... and a quick conversation with the "publican" (hint: in the States we call him the bartender!) gave us two or three pubs that had Irish musicians. Again ... neither Rob nor John seemed interested but Jean and I were definitely independent enough to state that we were going anyway. After a lovely "last meal" (you can't count "gas station" food although it is a bit like Italy where they have full-service meals at their petrol stops) ... John continued to opt out but Rob decided to come with us.

We appreciate his company as we walked the mile or so to the pub. There was not a soul on the downtown (city centre!) sidewalks. I was despairing of hearing Irish music close-up when we heard a melancholy tune wafting over the cobblestone sidewalk (pavement). Our destination, the James Griffin, exuded all the energy that was missing from the city streets. As we stepped inside, it seemed that most of Trim was there ... and while the ages ranged from 20 to 80 ... "our" age group was well-represented. The pub itself was nearly 150 years old ... and was the crooked little pub you would expect with rooms added to the original (the "new rooms" with only 100 years behind them). Cozy, lots of conversations, and smiles everywhere. 

Jean found 3 little stools not in use so we tucked ourselves into a corner ... no tables available, of course! The publican found us quickly ... as Becky pointed out ... Jean does tend to get noticed. She also earns the respect of all with her caring manner and ability to draw people out on their favorite subject ... Ireland. So the young boyo was with us immediately taking our drink orders. While even Ireland has not converted me to a beer drinker, I have loved their cider, which is quite potent and needs to be enjoyed carefully. However, besides tasting good, it has the same color as most of the lagers, which helps me blend into the crowd a bit! (And while I'm not a huge fan of white wine ... it was the one wine that I saw imbibed in the pubs of Ireland.The other odd choice ... to us ... is the Irish fondness for Coors Light. And Coors are masterful marketers ... in looking for "free coasters" to take home to a couple of friends ... all we saw that evening were Coors! Rob tried the craft beers throughout the land but always came back to a Guinness Stout .. Extra Stout!) 

We'd told ourselves that we'd just stay for a song or two ... but then the music began and we were carried away to a far distance ("Far and Away") time in Ireland. We listened to an entire set and then, when the "group" broke (3 of them ... seated in the opposite corner for us ... one on a banjo ... sometimes a mandolin; one on a concertina ... sometimes a flute ... and one on a guitar ... also the lead singer), they headed right towards us. We assumed that Jean was the beacon but they wanted to talk with Rob and me ... we must look the most "States" to them although they did politely ask where we were from ... as if the answer was anything but the States. 

The lead singer, Terry Lynch, was a bit shy and spent some time shuffling his feet but it was clear that he wanted to converse. After we spoke for about 10 minutes ... and it was time for him to return to his singing ... he said "You have made my evening." I said ... "No, no ... that's ours to say."  After being introduced to Jean, btw, he did ask if she wanted to hear any John Denver. She just laughed and said she preferred the Irish music. 

If you have been reading this blog long enough, you're likely getting used to its title ... me, too. But when the group started singing "When Irish Eyes Are Smiling" ... my heart just froze ... could they really be singing it? None of the other tunes were so recognizable ... plus it was relatively late in the evening (we stayed until closing ... which in Ireland is early ... 11:30) so I did feel like it was fate. Others may scoff but the moment could not be spoiled. And later, when a young Irish lass, whom they seemed to know, approached with her flute and led them through the most sorrowful rendition of Danny Boy that I've heard, I knew that my initial instincts were right: magical, simply magical. 

So yes, my quest for true Irish music was complete. I would have gone home with a heart full of memories with or without Terry Lynch but oh, it was so much more appropriate to the Irish experience. On the other hand, just when I thought the evening couldn't get any better ... an older man ... guessing 75 or so ... from the audience ... began to sing. As first a few joined in but then, recognizing the power and beauty of his voice, the entire bar fell quiet. When he was done ... the men were wiping their eyes, I was a puddle, and the clapping would have raised the dead. He seemed a bit surprised but just nodded. Then another younger man began ... "Paul ... we need one more." Paul just shook his head. The musicians then joined in on the plea ... but no, nothing more from Paul. Finally the young man who first spoke up said, "Paul ... to leave us without a second song ... well, that would be like a bird who cannot fly on only one wing." And so Paul acceded to the request and finished off the evening for us in finest Irish form ... and although I only recognized bits and pieces of the music ... Jean recorded it and so we will try to find it for the video/photo book that she is putting together. 

I have a few concluding posts about Ireland ... as the Irish might say, "Surely and again ... this canna' come as a great surprise to ya'." But as you can see, we finished out the Irish experience with an evening that we are not likely to repeat no matter how often we return.  

A bird cannot fly on only one wing~~Part 1

Our last nights in Ireland. It would be so easy to become overly sentimental at this point. Although being sentimental has its time and place ... and trust me, the beauty of this country elicited more than one tear of joy during our two weeks here. Sometimes I felt so grateful for the opportunity that another tear would fill my eyes ... so yes, let's hear it for being overly-sentimental. 

The final two days began much as any other. Sitting around the breakfast table ... being waited on by Jean, Rob, or John. I am not sure how that evolved but as someone who almost always feels the need to jump in and take charge, I have learned to push down those feelings and enjoy the holiday! 

But once we finished breakfast and stepped outside of our Ballyvaughan cottage, any similarity to the days before this one ended. Weather, always a topic of conversation in Ireland, had looked favorably upon us. In fact,  the only rain we'd experienced was that which marked the deaths of the Irish students. This morning, however, it alternated between rain and mist ... and even though the sun broke through somewhere between Galway and Dublin, we all found it fitting that, as we traveled eastward, our final look at the seascapes were through clouds of mist. It seemed much more Irish than the sun-filled days ... as grateful as we were for them. 

After reaching the M7, we tore across the mid-section of Ireland, driving to the Castle Trim Hotel. The GPS told us to exit too early but John was okay with the detour, even if he was now driving the back alleys that hold themselves out as R roads, albeit four digit ones. John admitted that he was already missing those tiny roads and was happy to drive them one last time. 

Our last stop was Trim in County Meath. It's on the Boyne River ... famous in Irish history for its battles (the river, that is). It turned out that the Castle (right across from the Castle Hotel ... imagine that) was famous for many battles, too ... the last of which was its role in Braveheart (yes, the Mel Gibson movie), where its four sides represented four different castles! 

We were prepared to dislike Trim after all the charming villages we'd visited over the past two weeks. It was chosen because it had a relatively well-reviewed hotel, 45 minutes from the Dublin airport. But we were wrong ... we ended up loving Trim as much as any place we'd stayed--starting with the fact that the hotel felt like a five-star ... a luxury hotel with tons of amenities for $90 a night, including a "full Irish breakfast." 

We arrived in time for our final pub lunch ... and after that, John, Jean, and Rob went to explore the castle, while I begged off to get a head start on wrangling the clothes back into the suddenly-too-small luggage.  (Somehow the woolen goods from the Arran Isles had taken sole possession of our suitcases!) I finished my wrangling and went off to do some last minute shopping (of course!). Having fairly well invested in Ireland's silver market, I used some of the late afternoon to shop for ordinary clothes ... something non-tourist like. (Yes, of course, I was successful!) 

As Jean was out-and-about, she found this written on a "sandwich board" in front of a pub. A quick bit of background ... everywhere we went, the Irish apologized for their Irish "winter:"

Winter, I am breaking up with you. 
I want to see other seasons. 
Particularly Summer. He's hot. 

God love the Irish and their gift of gab ... and their way with words of any kind! 

Yet to come ... our last evening enjoying Irish music ... the Irish alphabet ... Celebrating 150 years since William Butler Yeats' birth. But for now ... good night all. 



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Tears of Heaven

Last night the wind howled and the rain tore at the windows of our little cottage as if they, too, wanted to rent their garments with grief. While today's weather eventually "brightened"--the flag of Ireland, throughout the land, continues to fly at half-staff to honor its "children" who died in the horrific tragedy in Berkeley. It reminds us of how precious life is ... for all ages ... but that the mourning is much more intense when we grieve for the unrealized potential of such bright young people.