Ireland, part 2

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Another excerpt from my travel journal, dated Friday, April 11, 2008:

The plane is now descending into Dublin, after nearly seven hours of flight.  As much as it’s in the collective consciousness to make snide remarks about airline food, ironically I’m always happy when it comes.  Others seem more than happy to receive it too…where are the gourmets who refuse?  Breakfast was a melt-in-your-mouth scone, strawberry yogurt, orange juice, and coffee with milk and sugar because I felt like it, which I enjoyed while flipping through the final pages of last week’s Economist.

It’s overwhelming to take in the sights and sounds of the city thus far.  The energy, the hustle and bustle, the cacophonous swirl of cultures and languages…and all this without leaving the airport.

David arrived an hour or so ago, and most of our time thus far has been at the rental car booth trying to prove David’s credit card (4588-8734-0056-2897, expires April 2010) does cover insurance.  Presently we’re splitting a BLT on a baguette as we await the fax of proof.  I elected not to take a picture of David as he struggled through calling card PINs and access codes to reach MasterCard’s customer service.  A hand-drawn picture will have to suffice.

We secured the car even though the fax never came.  The agent, a fellow about our age with a friendly Irish accent and a smile which became progressively tighter, finally believed David.  Soon we were off, singing a new helpful driving song: “Stay left, stay left, wherever you go…” (to the tune of “Pop Goes the Weasel”).

After a few hours in the car, we parked in the town of Cashel, which has the main atraction of the Rock of Cashel, a fortress-like hill which was given to the church ~1000 years ago, and on which were built in succession a tower, a chapel, a cathedral, and a vicars’ building.

Here I first encountered the endearing characteristic of older men of calling us “lads.”  We skipped out early on a boring video and toured the chapel with its off-center choir (Christ’s head hung to the side) with a faded fresco ceiling.  We were pleasantly surprised by the view as we rounded the cathedral’s corner and saw the adjoining graveyard.  A light rain had stopped during our short time in the video, and now dark rainclouds hovered above the brilliantly shaded green hills and countryside, making a perfect photo opportunity.  The sun even peeked out, creating shadows which danced on the gravestones.

Leaving Cashel, we back-tracked to Kilkenny and proceeded to become lost, silently cursing Rick Steves’ fun but skeletal maps and the dearth of street-signs in the town.  Our home for the night was Carriglea (Irish carrig meaning sturdy or solid [often applied to rocks or homes], and lea, field or pasture).  It was managed by a talkative proprieter, Josephine O’Reilly.  Her wrinkled skin and hair dyed with just a tint of red framed a face that was eager to talk of her four children and problems with immigration and the birth-naturalization policy in Ireland.

We had dinner at a pub, where I learned that “cheers” is Irish for “I’ll smile at you as I hand you back 10 euro in change rather than the 20 euro I owe you, betting you won’t notice because you’re American and probably find counting money in euros intimidating and slightly confusing.”  David had a beef and Guinness stew and a Smithwicks, and I had lamb & potatoes with a Guinness, both dinners served with warm traditional Irish brown bread.  The evening was rounded out by a bar of Toblerone from the local market, and we soon found rest as we lay our jet-lagged heads on soft feather pillows.

More pictures: As can be seen in this next photograph, the ancient tombstones are not as sturdy as they may appear.

Here is the town of Cashel, lit in the afternoon sun after a rain.

Our trusty Mistsubishi Colt.

 

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Tags: Cathedral, DavidO, Dublin, Euro, Guinness, Ireland, Mitsubishi Colt, Rick Steves, Scone, Toblerone