The Auld Sod, Segment 4

We awoke to another overcast day, but a nice breakfast, served by the occasionally distracted staff (More coffee…PUH-leeeze) and we were on our way. Before leaving for the Ring of Kerry, we had one more place to visit in Killarney National Park, Muckross House.

Built in 1843 for Henry Arthur Herbert, a large landholder in the area, Muckross House sits on the edge of Muckross Lake and is a magnificent Victorian structure. Sadly, it was the “Victoria” in Victorian that spelled the Herbert Family downfall. At the docent at Muckross House tells it, Herbert wanted a title and the additional lands and wealth that would come with it. In August of 1861, Queen Victoria made her first visit to Killarney. The Herberts spent a fortune completely re-doing 5 rooms of the house to accommodate “Her Majesty”. Victoria spent two nights and returned to England. And then her beloved Albert died and she became a virtual recluse and forgot about the Herberts…no title was forthcoming.

The Herberts never recovered from the expense and finally sold the house to Lord Ardilaun (of the Guinness brewing family) who in turn sold it to a wealthy American, William Bowers Bourne, who purchased it as a wedding present for his daughter, Maud. When Maud died very young, her husband Arthur Vincent and his in-laws, the Bournes, gave the property to the people of Ireland. This 10,000 acre tract forms the backbone of Killarney National Park. Nice story!

The house is wonderful with much of the original furniture (and some near-perfect replicas) giving the visitor a look back in time. For those of you old enough to remember the Masterpiece Theatre production of “Upstairs Downstairs,” the layout of the house and the near complete isolation that it affords between the masters of the house and their “help” was amazing. Except for the occasional intrusion of the butler or maid the vast majority of the staff was neither seen nor heard. Class society at its finest?!?!

Back to the coach, we set out for the Ring of Kerry which is a road the winds around the beautiful Iveragh Peninsula on Ireland’s south west coast. The countryside is beautiful. Ireland is, essentially, a large chunk of sedimentary rock with a dusting of topsoil in some places and an abundance of peat bogs in others. Over the millennia, the Irish have had to clear the land of millions of rocks to create patches that are arable. And the stones became walls. The landscape everywhere, and I mean everywhere outside of the towns and cities, is a patchwork quilt of varying shades of green denoting farm land, grazing land, and fallow land. And separating them are stone walls. Most are about 3 feet high and are made of hand stacked free standing stones, no mortar. They are even-sided and usually very straight. And they go everywhere. As we drove along, I noticed a wall that went up the side of a hill. The hill rose some 1,500 feet from its base and about half way up the incline was very nearly 45 degrees. The remarkable thing was not that this perfectly straight and smooth wall went all the way up the side of the hill (which, of course, it did), what blew my mind was that about 300 feet from the crest, there was a large rock outcropping and the wall went up and over it, never varying in height or alignment. The countryside of Ireland, so torn apart by invasion and occupation over the centuries is held together great rugged seams of stone.

The quilt imagery continues when one looks between the stone walls. Factoid: there are 3 sheep and 2 cows for every man woman and child in Ireland, and there are 4.5 million people. So, everywhere you look, something is grazing and ruminating…but usually in its own separate little patch. Now I live in the suburbs of Los Angeles, not exactly sheep country, so I don’t if this is how things are done in America, but one of the things I found fascinating about the sheep in Ireland is how they tell what belongs to whom…they spray paint them. Ireland is covered with “punk” sheep with wool in every color of the rainbow…sometimes two-tone. Not a lot of paint but it certainly was easy to tell the shocking pink sheep didn’t belong to the same guy as the sky blue sheep.

Sprinkled among the walls and the cows and the sheep were houses. Most were a basic box design, many had fireplaces at both ends, all had flowers, flower pots, flower beds, flower boxes. Very few had garages. And maybe being an urban guy has made me paranoid but one other thing I noticed was that even though, in many cases, no one appeared to be home, all the curtains and drapes were pulled back so we could see everything inside.

We finally reached the coast, and I had a sense of déjà vu. Much of this area reminded me of the coast of central and northern California, rugged and breathtaking with the color of the ocean constantly changing as we drove along.

We turned inland and then we came upon an absolutely quintessential Irish inn where we stopped for lunch. The place was painted white, had flowers everywhere…and it had an honest to goodness thatched roof. We ordered Irish stew (just like ours but with mutton) and shepherd’s pie (think of a deep dish Sloppy Joe served over cooked vegetables and then topped with mashed potatoes and heated under a broiler, yum!)

Back on the coach, we started to climb into the low lying clouds and the rain started. As we reached the peak, we realized that we were at the top of a long and narrow peninsula. From there we could look down to our right and left and see the ocean below. The view to the left had a small bay with another finger of land curving out and around to shelter it. It was pouring and we stood outside the coach mesmerized.

We continued on down to the left and back to sea level and then turned inland. Now the area became more mountainous and forested. And then, as if Mother Nature thought we might be getting bored, a series of beautiful lakes appeared. We moved through a narrow canyon with a myriad of small bridges crossing an impossible number of brooks and streams. And then, familiar surroundings, the edge of Killarney National Park…and then we were back to Aghadoe Heights.

That evening, we had a quick dinner of the flat out best fish and chips I have ever had and then caught a shuttle into Killarney where the national touring troupe of “Riverdance” was performing. The performance was exhilarating. We made our way back to the hotel…a wonderful end to a wonderful day.

Next: Dromoland Castle