We made our way out of the town of Galway and headed inland. Gradually the rolling fields with their ubiquitous stone walls were replaced with a more forested terrain…beautiful rolling hills covered in trees opening to velvet green pasture areas. I half expected to see medieval knights in full armor on magnificent steeds engaged in battle or, perhaps, Robin Hood eluding the Sheriff of Nottingham. The imagery wasn’t that far off. We rounded a corner and, exiting a complete canopy of trees, we saw a broad expanse of green, the golf course at Ashford, and beyond we could see Lough Corrib, Ireland’s second largest lake. And then we made a sweeping turn to the right and the 13th Century just popped up right before our eyes…Ashford Castle.
As I started to write this chapter of my journey, I got to the end of the previous paragraph and stopped, and sat, and had to think about how to describe Ashford. If a picture is worth a thousand words, then my mental images would fill several volumes. It is stunning. If you had never seen a castle but had read of Camelot and Ivanhoe and Galahad, the image you would likely conjure would be Ashford. It is a great stone edifice and it loomed up before us. It sits on the banks of the River Cong where the Cong empties into Lough Corrib. To get to the Castle, you cross the Cong over a stone bridge with great arched stone towers affixed with heavy green iron gates at each end. It gave the appearance of crossing a moat. Once across, you enter a beautiful courtyard which, on the day of our arrival, was littered with Rolls Royces, Bentleys, Mercedes, and one lonely BMW ( I guess they let the riff raff in). To the right was another smaller tower gate which led outside the castle’s low stone wall to a large expanse of grass with a large concrete circle. We thought this might be some ancient monument…until the helicopter landed, and several guests made their way in. Looking back to our left, we could see a tourist boat called The Spirit of Inisfree which can take you down the last few hundred yards of the Cong River and out into the lake. We walked toward the main entrance marveling at the great stone towers that seemed to be everywhere. As we approached two great oaken doors, two gentlemen in white tie and tails and white gloves, no less, opened the doors and welcomed us inside.
The interior of Ashford Castle can basically be summed up in one word…mahogany. The walls, the ceilings, the hand rails, the stairs, even the bulk of the custom furniture and nearly all the antiques were made of the finest mahogany. Much of it was intricately carved and all of it was beautifully stained and highly polished. This place created a big hole in a rainforest when it was being built. About the only things that weren’t mahogany were the great stone fireplaces. Large works of art and several great mirrors hung on the walls and the finest Persian rugs were under foot
We were escorted up to our room which, while beautiful, had an interior door to an adjoining room and we could hear the quiet conversation next door. Joan is a very light sleeper, and so she went off to see if anything could be done. I guarded the baggage and looked around. The large flat screen TV was on with a message welcoming Joan and I, by name, to Ashford Castle. Joan hadn’t been gone more that three minutes when the screen made a slight “boink” sound and went blank. Within seconds Joan had returned with new room keys. When we entered our new room (two doors down) this TV greeted us as well. The room was very comfortable with a sitting table and two large wingback chairs. It was painted in beautiful cream and rose colors with mahogany trim everywhere. We overlooked the entry courtyard and had a wonderful view of the entry bridge and the River Cong.
We left our bags and went exploring. Back downstairs we really began to take in our surroundings. The entry atrium opens to the right to the business/concierge area. This room had a stone fireplace and four small tables with chairs. If you had to wait for assistance (highly unlikely) you rested comfortably. A beautifully carved mahogany archway to the left led you to a long open hallway. Opposite the archway was a large open lounge, separated from the hallway by an ornately carved mahogany rail, with numerous overstuffed chairs and couches. To the left was a bar that looked as if it had been carved from a single piece of mahogany. The lounge had a vaulted ceiling covered with carved mahogany tiles. On the far side of the lounge, two story high windows overlooked the main garden. To the left of the bar, tucked in a corner was the magnificent dining room (more about this later). Stepping into the lounge we looked back and up to a second story overlook, the walls covered with photos of the famous visitors who have stayed here. We walked down the hall to a second room in which eight foot high china cabinets displayed historic serving pieces, china and crystal (Waterford, of course) which had been used by the castle over the centuries for state dinners. A little farther down the hall, I looked to my right and, to my delight, there was an inglenook. An inglenook is a small sitting area (nook) usually recessed into a main wall. This one was about six feet wide and four feet deep. On the back wall a small brick fireplace, to the sides, built-in mahogany benches with seating pads. What a lovely place to quietly sit and sip a cognac with your significant other. The hall ended in a second smaller dining area which was available for large private parties. The rain, which had been on again off again all day, had stopped and so we went out back to the main garden, known as the Terraced Garden.
The Terraced Garden is very large and formal, but simple. It is longer than a football field and half again as wide. The perimeter to the left is a 10 foot high stone wall which runs from the castle to a two story tall half circle stone tower rounded outward. The inward facing curvature was designed for defense by archers who could fire through small slits in the wall. Running the length of the garden, from the tower, is a smaller stone wall with a number of stairway passages through to Lough Corrib which glistens some 100 feet beyond. The interior of the walls are lined with roses. Walkways encircle the perimeter and lead to the center of the garden and a wonderful large fountain which sits in the middle of a 50 foot diameter reflecting pool. As you walk out of the castle, the view of the garden, fountain, and lake beyond, is both breathtaking and serene. We walked to the lake side of the garden and looked out. On a point, some 100 yards to our right, we saw a living breathing postcard picture. It was a fisherman, wearing a tweed hat and rain gear, sitting in an Adirondack chair, completely mindless of the rain. To the right were two paths. The smaller curving one led into a forested area along the lake. The larger straight one led to the other gardens (more later). At this point we turned around and looked back at the castle…it is HUGE!
Your initial view of Ashford is a tip of the iceberg experience. What you see is the end of the castle, and because of the angles of the walls you can’t see how big it is…and how diverse.
Time for a little history lesson. The castle was started in 1228 by the de Burgos Family after the defeat of the O’Connors of Connaught. In 1589, English Lord Bingham seizes power and adds a fortified enclave. In 1789, the Oranmore and Browne families add a French style chateau. In 1853 Sir Benjamin Lee Guiness adds two Victorian-style extensions. In 1868, Lord Arduilan (Guiness’s son) rebuilds the entire west wing. SO…from the first building there have been four extensions and a rebuild. And even without a blueprint it’s easy to see what’s what, as roof lines change from medieval turrets to Victorian peaked roofs. As you move from section, the size and shapes of the windows and their treatments change. The great commonality is the ivy creeping up the sides in hues of green and red, Mother Nature showing no preference as to style. And while one might expect that such a pedigree would yield an architectural nightmare, the fact is it is…beautiful! And if you look at the mixture of sizes and shapes of the buildings in almost every charming Irish town, Ashford may well be the most “Irish” of Ireland’s castles.
It started to rain again and we were tired. It was time for a nap and dinner was a few hours away.
Next: More Ashford and Kylemore Abbey
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Thursday, August 02, 2007
The Auld Sod, 7th Edition
We left the Cliffs of Moher and headed north along the west coast of Ireland. The amazing black limestone that creates the cliffs extends up the coast in dramatic fashion in an area known as the Burren. The Burren, from the Irish “bhoireann,” means stony place. And stony it is. As we drove along, suddenly all the topsoil and vegetation we had been seeing…stopped! We entered this otherworldly area that looked like a cross between a moonscape and a lava plain. As far as the eye could see there was flat black fractured rock. From the road to the sea the rock swept gently downward, the fractures growing in size and depth until it dropped straight off like a mini Cliffs of Moher. Across the road the rock swept gently upward to the base of a hill. The hill had eroded such that it looked like a series of giant stairs or the side of a Mayan pyramid. If you didn’t know what you were looking at you might think you were looking at a really beat up asphalt parking lot. Despite the lack of soil, flowers abound. Every crack was filled with tiny yellow and red and blue flowers. Tiny cypress plants mimicked massive trees…Nature’s Bonsai. Nearby were succulents usually found only in Mediterranean climates. The juxtaposition of the black rock and the colorful plants in every crack made it look like a vast black cloak sewn together with the most colorful of thread. After many pictures, we journeyed on.
The Burren goes on for miles. As we road along we spied a castle ruin sitting off to our left on the Burren cliffs above the ocean. We were told that the locals from Galway had taken over the place and turned it into a regional theater. We didn’t have time to stop but I can only imagine the experience of seeing a play in a venue like that.
The City of Galway rose in the distance. Galway is a seafaring town and we drove along next to the port with its dozens of fishing boats nearby and small freighters in the distance. We made a hard right turn and there, looming above the town, was the Galway Cathedral. Officially known as The Cathedral of Our Lady Assumed into Heaven and St. Nicholas, the cathedral sits on a small hill with its great green Renaissance dome towering 145 feet in the sky. Built between 1958 and 1965, it sits upon the site of the former city jail…redemption replaces incarceration. Built with attention to classical detail, this great stone church offers its visitors a virtual time machine experience. To look at this spotless edifice is to get an idea of what the other great churches in Ireland may have looked like in their youth. The Cathedral has four great rose windows and the walls are adorned with wonderful mosaics and the floor is inlayed with at least 10 different kinds of stone and marble. The pews are of carved mahogany stained a warm russet color. The aisles along side the nave are separated from the pews by a series of great stone arches. There are magnificent stained glass windows absolutely everywhere. The choir loft is unique. The choir and organist are on a mezzanine level looking down on the congregation. Directly above them on a separate level sit the pipes of the huge organ…stunning! The altar sits on a large raised area made of cream colored travertine. The access to the altar area is through wonderful sculptured gates made of polished brass. We took pictures, lit candles, and knelt and said a prayer. I know God is supposed to be everywhere, but I’ll bet he (she?) enjoys spending time here. You could make a day of this place.
Back on the coach everyone was eager to continue as we were now on our way to one of the highlights of our tour… Ashford Castle.
Next: Ashford Castle
The Burren goes on for miles. As we road along we spied a castle ruin sitting off to our left on the Burren cliffs above the ocean. We were told that the locals from Galway had taken over the place and turned it into a regional theater. We didn’t have time to stop but I can only imagine the experience of seeing a play in a venue like that.
The City of Galway rose in the distance. Galway is a seafaring town and we drove along next to the port with its dozens of fishing boats nearby and small freighters in the distance. We made a hard right turn and there, looming above the town, was the Galway Cathedral. Officially known as The Cathedral of Our Lady Assumed into Heaven and St. Nicholas, the cathedral sits on a small hill with its great green Renaissance dome towering 145 feet in the sky. Built between 1958 and 1965, it sits upon the site of the former city jail…redemption replaces incarceration. Built with attention to classical detail, this great stone church offers its visitors a virtual time machine experience. To look at this spotless edifice is to get an idea of what the other great churches in Ireland may have looked like in their youth. The Cathedral has four great rose windows and the walls are adorned with wonderful mosaics and the floor is inlayed with at least 10 different kinds of stone and marble. The pews are of carved mahogany stained a warm russet color. The aisles along side the nave are separated from the pews by a series of great stone arches. There are magnificent stained glass windows absolutely everywhere. The choir loft is unique. The choir and organist are on a mezzanine level looking down on the congregation. Directly above them on a separate level sit the pipes of the huge organ…stunning! The altar sits on a large raised area made of cream colored travertine. The access to the altar area is through wonderful sculptured gates made of polished brass. We took pictures, lit candles, and knelt and said a prayer. I know God is supposed to be everywhere, but I’ll bet he (she?) enjoys spending time here. You could make a day of this place.
Back on the coach everyone was eager to continue as we were now on our way to one of the highlights of our tour… Ashford Castle.
Next: Ashford Castle
Friday, July 27, 2007
The Auld Sod, Stanza Six
We awoke to dark skies and a very light mist. Breakfast at Dromoland was a comfortable yet elegant affair. A large hallway off the main dining room was set up with all the cold goodies we had come to expect. Lots of fresh and dried fruit, a world of scones, muffins, and sweet rolls, four kinds of fresh juice, cheeses, salami, lox and a selection of cereals. Take as much as you want and then step inside for a wonderful full menu of hot breakfast items. One perfect omelet later and I was ready for the road.
As our coach started away, I looked back at Dromoland. The mist had started to shroud the castle. As it began to fade in the distance, it was almost as if our stay had been a reverie, a brief daydream, the place was so magical. Happily, it had been real.
We made our way out to the west coast of Ireland, a hard, rugged and awe inspiring part of this wonderful island. As we drove, the landscape began to change. The terrain became more rolling and almost treeless. And the ubiquitous stone walls…were nowhere to be seen, just low lying shrubs and grass as far as the eye could see. Ahead we could see a great headland but, as we approached, something else caught my eye…a golf course, but not just any golf course, it was Lahinch. Lahinch is one of the two or three most famous and respected courses in all of Ireland. This 36 hole complex sits hard against the Atlantic Ocean. It is what is known as a links course. Links courses are the earliest kind of courses. They were laid out on “links land” which was the un-arable grass land that linked the beach sand to the farmland. Arguably, the most famous links course in the world is St. Andrews in Scotland. Anyone who has ever watched the British Open being played there has seen the rough and tumble fairways, which appear as almost a continuous flat plain, pock marked by small deep sand bunkers. Lahinch is different. It sits atop great heaving sand dunes, the fairways looking like beautiful green roller coasters and greens sitting perched high above. The wind was blowing hard and it was raining…perfect Irish golf weather. The course was packed with players. I tried to stifle my whimpers as we drove by. I must return and play this beast.
We started to climb up toward the headland and passed through a rather simple gate with a sign welcoming us to the Cliffs of Moher. We drove a little farther…and then we saw the cliffs. Now breathing, as any student of anatomy will tell you, is an autonomic function. We don’t think about it; we just do it. We inhale and we exhale. And each of us does this at his or her own rate depending upon our level of exertion… 36 people all gasped for breath in perfect unison. We were at the end of the world. I have seen sights where the best of photographs can never come close to the majesty of the first hand experience (the Grand Canyon, the Hubbard Glacier, Yosemite Valley); this is one of those places.
The cliffs tower some 700 feet high and seem to rise almost straight up from the ocean. Just off the cliffs are remnant spires jutting out of the water looking like giant chess pieces. The area visitors are allowed to visit is a long concave arc walkway of about a third of a mile in length which sits at about the mid point of the 5 miles of cliffs. At the highest point on the cliffs sits O’Brien’s Tower a round stone tower built in 1835 by Cornellius O’Brien, a descendant of Ireland’s High King Brian Boru. For better or worse, the area has been developed to accommodate the 1,000,000 visitors per year, who all, no doubt, gasp as did we when first seeing the cliffs. You used to be able to crawl over to the edge of the cliffs, and lying flat on your belly, look over the edge. However, because these cliffs tend to erode from the bottom up, it isn’t easy to see if the place you are lying has any underlying support, and people have fallen as recently as 2004. Now you are restricted to a walkway behind a wall of the very slate that makes up these cliffs. No matter, you are close enough to experience the wonder of the place.
As we made our way to the north end, near the tower and looked south, it started to rain. The cliffs, a dull dark gray, turned jet black and shiny. They looked like huge pieces of polished onyx. In the distance, we could see the Aran Islands, three small islands off the coast where the Irish language is spoken almost exclusively, and tourists can virtually step back in time a century or so and see the Ireland of yore. To the north, we could see Galway Bay, our next destination. As we walked to the south end of the viewing area and looked north we got a better view of the sentinel spires in the ocean. The tops had been dusted with soil over the millennia and low lying vegetation gave several a Kelly green toupee and what appeared to be thousands of black and white polka dots. Binoculars revealed the polka dots to have specks or red and orange…puffins covered the spires and the cliffs.
We made our way to the stunning new visitors’ center. In an effort to not let the center detract from the natural beauty of the cliffs, the center was, literally, cut back into the mountainside. Like a giant hobbit house, windows and doors peak out from the grassy hillside. Inside are a variety of exhibits which tell the geologic and cultural history of the Cliffs of Moher, highlighted by a 15 minute widescreen movie shot mostly from a helicopter giving you breathtaking views of the cliffs you could see no other way. One final little detail… in keeping with the whole natural scheme of the center, the sinks in the restrooms had motion sensor faucets that were small waterfalls tumbling off tiny copper cliffs…appropriate.
Next: The Burren and Galway
As our coach started away, I looked back at Dromoland. The mist had started to shroud the castle. As it began to fade in the distance, it was almost as if our stay had been a reverie, a brief daydream, the place was so magical. Happily, it had been real.
We made our way out to the west coast of Ireland, a hard, rugged and awe inspiring part of this wonderful island. As we drove, the landscape began to change. The terrain became more rolling and almost treeless. And the ubiquitous stone walls…were nowhere to be seen, just low lying shrubs and grass as far as the eye could see. Ahead we could see a great headland but, as we approached, something else caught my eye…a golf course, but not just any golf course, it was Lahinch. Lahinch is one of the two or three most famous and respected courses in all of Ireland. This 36 hole complex sits hard against the Atlantic Ocean. It is what is known as a links course. Links courses are the earliest kind of courses. They were laid out on “links land” which was the un-arable grass land that linked the beach sand to the farmland. Arguably, the most famous links course in the world is St. Andrews in Scotland. Anyone who has ever watched the British Open being played there has seen the rough and tumble fairways, which appear as almost a continuous flat plain, pock marked by small deep sand bunkers. Lahinch is different. It sits atop great heaving sand dunes, the fairways looking like beautiful green roller coasters and greens sitting perched high above. The wind was blowing hard and it was raining…perfect Irish golf weather. The course was packed with players. I tried to stifle my whimpers as we drove by. I must return and play this beast.
We started to climb up toward the headland and passed through a rather simple gate with a sign welcoming us to the Cliffs of Moher. We drove a little farther…and then we saw the cliffs. Now breathing, as any student of anatomy will tell you, is an autonomic function. We don’t think about it; we just do it. We inhale and we exhale. And each of us does this at his or her own rate depending upon our level of exertion… 36 people all gasped for breath in perfect unison. We were at the end of the world. I have seen sights where the best of photographs can never come close to the majesty of the first hand experience (the Grand Canyon, the Hubbard Glacier, Yosemite Valley); this is one of those places.
The cliffs tower some 700 feet high and seem to rise almost straight up from the ocean. Just off the cliffs are remnant spires jutting out of the water looking like giant chess pieces. The area visitors are allowed to visit is a long concave arc walkway of about a third of a mile in length which sits at about the mid point of the 5 miles of cliffs. At the highest point on the cliffs sits O’Brien’s Tower a round stone tower built in 1835 by Cornellius O’Brien, a descendant of Ireland’s High King Brian Boru. For better or worse, the area has been developed to accommodate the 1,000,000 visitors per year, who all, no doubt, gasp as did we when first seeing the cliffs. You used to be able to crawl over to the edge of the cliffs, and lying flat on your belly, look over the edge. However, because these cliffs tend to erode from the bottom up, it isn’t easy to see if the place you are lying has any underlying support, and people have fallen as recently as 2004. Now you are restricted to a walkway behind a wall of the very slate that makes up these cliffs. No matter, you are close enough to experience the wonder of the place.
As we made our way to the north end, near the tower and looked south, it started to rain. The cliffs, a dull dark gray, turned jet black and shiny. They looked like huge pieces of polished onyx. In the distance, we could see the Aran Islands, three small islands off the coast where the Irish language is spoken almost exclusively, and tourists can virtually step back in time a century or so and see the Ireland of yore. To the north, we could see Galway Bay, our next destination. As we walked to the south end of the viewing area and looked north we got a better view of the sentinel spires in the ocean. The tops had been dusted with soil over the millennia and low lying vegetation gave several a Kelly green toupee and what appeared to be thousands of black and white polka dots. Binoculars revealed the polka dots to have specks or red and orange…puffins covered the spires and the cliffs.
We made our way to the stunning new visitors’ center. In an effort to not let the center detract from the natural beauty of the cliffs, the center was, literally, cut back into the mountainside. Like a giant hobbit house, windows and doors peak out from the grassy hillside. Inside are a variety of exhibits which tell the geologic and cultural history of the Cliffs of Moher, highlighted by a 15 minute widescreen movie shot mostly from a helicopter giving you breathtaking views of the cliffs you could see no other way. One final little detail… in keeping with the whole natural scheme of the center, the sinks in the restrooms had motion sensor faucets that were small waterfalls tumbling off tiny copper cliffs…appropriate.
Next: The Burren and Galway
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
The Auld Sod, Unit Five
We awoke to rain our last morning in Killarney and went down to the dining room at Aghadoe Heights for breakfast. As with many of the breakfasts we had eaten on this journey, there was a table with all sorts of pastries, scones and breads, fresh fruit, cereal, and a selection of juices. They also had lox and things you don’t expect at a breakfast buffet like a selection of salamis. After you take your fill, you order your hot items from the menu. After several days of omelets, I wanted to try something different. The menu had sautéed kippers served with potatoes and a rice vegetable mixture…sounded interesting. A short while later everyone got their food and I got…two lonely small kippers on a plate. I stopped my waiter who appeared to be in a hurry and he insisted I got what I had ordered. I tried to say something but he insisted my order was right. I called the head waiter over and showed him the menu and my plate. He apologized, called the waiter over and showed him the menu. Without saying a word to me he quickly took my plate and returned about 60 seconds later with the same two kippers, now accompanied by about a half a cup of a mixture of cubed potatoes, vegetables, and rice. Good thing I ate the scones. A final word about the Aghadoe Heights Hotel. This place is veeery expensive. Our meals were included but they would have run about 120 euros per person for dinner. In the closet of our room, they had posted the seasonal room rates. Our room, this time of year goes for 1,250 euro per person per night double occupancy. For my wife and I that would be $3,500.00 per nights. Yikes!
We boarded our coach and headed to the seaside town of Foynes. In the 1930’s Trans-Atlantic flight, on a commercial scale was under serious consideration. In the late ‘30’s amphibious aircraft called “flying boats” were being developed by America and Britain. The closest safe harbor, on the edge of Europe, was Foynes. From 1939 until 1945, Foynes was the gateway to Europe. On July 9, 1939 Pan Am’s world famous “Yankee Clipper” landed in Foynes. We visited the Flying Boat Museum which has a full size replica of the Yankee Clipper…rather Spartan accommodations but great legroom. Foynes other claim to fame is that one night in 1942 a flying boat took off in a cold downpour. After several hours of flying the pilot deemed the head winds too severe and returned. One very tired, cold and wet passenger asked the bartender for a cup of coffee. The bartender poured a hot cup, added a shot of Irish Whiskey and a dollop of cream and handed it to the weary traveler who allegedly asked “Is this Brazilian coffee?” “No” replied the bartender, “That’s Irish Coffee.” And one of the world’s great toddies was born. Oh yeah! Our tour included Irish Coffees all around!
Next it was on to the little town of Adare. Adare is one of those little dots of town I mentioned earlier. However, it has a heritage center where visitors can research their family histories. We had time for a brief visit and then lunch in town. It was raining so we didn’t stray too far. We selected a little pub about a block away on the other side of the street. Believe it or not, this was our first chance, as pedestrians, to cross traffic in Ireland. Even with the rain, nobody slows down much, and there was a surprising amount of traffic. As we got ready to cross we noticed the Irish acknowledgement that they, like the Brits, drive on the wrong side of the road. Painted on the street in large letters at every possible crossing point are the words “Look Right”. We looked right and started to cross and every car on both sides of the street stopped Very polite, these Irish.
Lunch was another hearty affaire with Shepherd’s Pies all around. After lunch we had a few minutes so we went into a small market to see what it was like. What we saw was a lot of brands we recognized but not the products. Candy bars and chewing gum by Mars and Wrigley but not Snickers and Doublemint, familiar brands of soda but in odd size and shaped bottles were the norm. Interesting!
Back on the coach we were on the road again. Everyone had a great deal of anticipation because we were now on our way to spend the night in our first genuine, certified, castle…Dromoland. The road from Adare was much more wooded than we had been experiencing. As we neared the castle, we saw something we hadn’t seen much of, hedge rows…very tall hedge rows. We turned off the main road, down a narrow road with 15 foot high hedge rows on either side. We turned onto another road, same thing. For a minute I thought maybe the castle sat at the center of an elaborate maze. One more turn and then a large open area appeared. It was the golf course which surrounds the castle. As a golfer, I was drooling all over the coach window, with tears in my eyes knowing that the time constraints would not afford me the opportunity to play. We drove through some enormous oak trees and there it was, Dromoland Castle.
Dromoland dates back to the 16th century and was the ancestral home of the O’Brien clan. The present structure dates to 1935. It was the O’Brien home until 1962 when it was sold to American, Bernard McDonough, who turned it into a five star hotel. The driveway curves around the main tower of the castle revealing great gray stone walls draped with a delicate shawl of ivy. You turn to the right, past a beautiful formal fountain and enter a large terraced courtyard. The facility is shaped like a U with the main entry to the right through huge mahogany doors. It was pouring when we arrived and a phalanx of courteous staff created a canopy of umbrellas between the coach and the door. Inside everything is made of stone, marble or wood, in perfect proportion and in perfect condition. Lots of towering ceilings and overstuffed chairs…very comfortable. The staff had our rooms ready, and we were quickly escorted away. Our room, which we affectionately dubbed “the Dungeon” was down stairs through a narrow corridor. The room was delightful. Like Hayfield Manor in Cork, it was Victorian by design but 21st Century in execution. The one wonderful anachronism was the room key. Rather than your typical electronic card, this was a massive brass key attached to a large leather fob…a proper key for a castle. Our room overlooked a small formal garden.
After getting our luggage, we took a walk in the rain which was now a light mist. We visited the formal walled garden which was resplendent with roses, small fountains and ponds. It’s the kind of place that makes you feel you should sit down and write a sonnet or something. As we left, we noticed a small sign beside the gate asking visitors to close the gate so the local deer can’t get in to browse…charming. We paid a brief visit to the golf shop and then headed back to our room. We wanted to rest and freshen up because tonight was to be our first coat and tie dinner of this trip.
Dinner in a castle is…well…dinner in a castle. Everyone dressed for the occasion including Devin and Gavin, our two youngest touring companions at 11 and 13, who wore nice blue blazers over their t-shirts. The dining room had a vaulted ceiling adorned with numerous Waterford crystal chandeliers. All the waiters were young, and most were French. The five course two and one half hour meal was elegant and excellent. Afterward, we wandered around the castle, marveling at the stained glass windows. When we returned to our room, we found chocolates and a decanter of fine port to finish off a perfect day.
Next: The Cliffs of Moher
We boarded our coach and headed to the seaside town of Foynes. In the 1930’s Trans-Atlantic flight, on a commercial scale was under serious consideration. In the late ‘30’s amphibious aircraft called “flying boats” were being developed by America and Britain. The closest safe harbor, on the edge of Europe, was Foynes. From 1939 until 1945, Foynes was the gateway to Europe. On July 9, 1939 Pan Am’s world famous “Yankee Clipper” landed in Foynes. We visited the Flying Boat Museum which has a full size replica of the Yankee Clipper…rather Spartan accommodations but great legroom. Foynes other claim to fame is that one night in 1942 a flying boat took off in a cold downpour. After several hours of flying the pilot deemed the head winds too severe and returned. One very tired, cold and wet passenger asked the bartender for a cup of coffee. The bartender poured a hot cup, added a shot of Irish Whiskey and a dollop of cream and handed it to the weary traveler who allegedly asked “Is this Brazilian coffee?” “No” replied the bartender, “That’s Irish Coffee.” And one of the world’s great toddies was born. Oh yeah! Our tour included Irish Coffees all around!
Next it was on to the little town of Adare. Adare is one of those little dots of town I mentioned earlier. However, it has a heritage center where visitors can research their family histories. We had time for a brief visit and then lunch in town. It was raining so we didn’t stray too far. We selected a little pub about a block away on the other side of the street. Believe it or not, this was our first chance, as pedestrians, to cross traffic in Ireland. Even with the rain, nobody slows down much, and there was a surprising amount of traffic. As we got ready to cross we noticed the Irish acknowledgement that they, like the Brits, drive on the wrong side of the road. Painted on the street in large letters at every possible crossing point are the words “Look Right”. We looked right and started to cross and every car on both sides of the street stopped Very polite, these Irish.
Lunch was another hearty affaire with Shepherd’s Pies all around. After lunch we had a few minutes so we went into a small market to see what it was like. What we saw was a lot of brands we recognized but not the products. Candy bars and chewing gum by Mars and Wrigley but not Snickers and Doublemint, familiar brands of soda but in odd size and shaped bottles were the norm. Interesting!
Back on the coach we were on the road again. Everyone had a great deal of anticipation because we were now on our way to spend the night in our first genuine, certified, castle…Dromoland. The road from Adare was much more wooded than we had been experiencing. As we neared the castle, we saw something we hadn’t seen much of, hedge rows…very tall hedge rows. We turned off the main road, down a narrow road with 15 foot high hedge rows on either side. We turned onto another road, same thing. For a minute I thought maybe the castle sat at the center of an elaborate maze. One more turn and then a large open area appeared. It was the golf course which surrounds the castle. As a golfer, I was drooling all over the coach window, with tears in my eyes knowing that the time constraints would not afford me the opportunity to play. We drove through some enormous oak trees and there it was, Dromoland Castle.
Dromoland dates back to the 16th century and was the ancestral home of the O’Brien clan. The present structure dates to 1935. It was the O’Brien home until 1962 when it was sold to American, Bernard McDonough, who turned it into a five star hotel. The driveway curves around the main tower of the castle revealing great gray stone walls draped with a delicate shawl of ivy. You turn to the right, past a beautiful formal fountain and enter a large terraced courtyard. The facility is shaped like a U with the main entry to the right through huge mahogany doors. It was pouring when we arrived and a phalanx of courteous staff created a canopy of umbrellas between the coach and the door. Inside everything is made of stone, marble or wood, in perfect proportion and in perfect condition. Lots of towering ceilings and overstuffed chairs…very comfortable. The staff had our rooms ready, and we were quickly escorted away. Our room, which we affectionately dubbed “the Dungeon” was down stairs through a narrow corridor. The room was delightful. Like Hayfield Manor in Cork, it was Victorian by design but 21st Century in execution. The one wonderful anachronism was the room key. Rather than your typical electronic card, this was a massive brass key attached to a large leather fob…a proper key for a castle. Our room overlooked a small formal garden.
After getting our luggage, we took a walk in the rain which was now a light mist. We visited the formal walled garden which was resplendent with roses, small fountains and ponds. It’s the kind of place that makes you feel you should sit down and write a sonnet or something. As we left, we noticed a small sign beside the gate asking visitors to close the gate so the local deer can’t get in to browse…charming. We paid a brief visit to the golf shop and then headed back to our room. We wanted to rest and freshen up because tonight was to be our first coat and tie dinner of this trip.
Dinner in a castle is…well…dinner in a castle. Everyone dressed for the occasion including Devin and Gavin, our two youngest touring companions at 11 and 13, who wore nice blue blazers over their t-shirts. The dining room had a vaulted ceiling adorned with numerous Waterford crystal chandeliers. All the waiters were young, and most were French. The five course two and one half hour meal was elegant and excellent. Afterward, we wandered around the castle, marveling at the stained glass windows. When we returned to our room, we found chocolates and a decanter of fine port to finish off a perfect day.
Next: The Cliffs of Moher
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
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
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
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