Invasion of Ireland

For those who didn't know (and who didn't?), we had been planning a trip to Ireland for a few years, now. It seemed, for a long while that it was a long way off. We were telling folk of the date, and they all responded, "I wish I could visit Ireland, too."

We thought, "You can, just start saving for it, planning for it, and it will happen. All the while, though, we were thinking, "Will the day ever get here for us to go?" We received periodic bills from the travel agent who had booked our tour, bills for partial payments for the day, etc., and we made those payments, after a fashion.

And it came to pass that the days came that we should be delivered to those shores. It seemed impossible that it was happening, but suddenly we had two weeks before we were to leave home, then one week, then a few days. "Good-bye" was exchanged with all our co-workers and friends as though we wouldn't see them again, and in these unstable days, it could be true. Hugs, kisses, promises of prayer and requests for souvies, and suddenly we were off!

We met, the combined choirs of St. Eugene and Groce UMC, in the latter's parking lot and boarded a bus. The bus took us to Atlanta, where we were screened and scanned and allowed into the departures section. Exorbitant prices were paid to foreigners for mediocre food as we awaited the announcement of our flight. While we had been told our flight would be direct to Shannon, we learned we would stop in Dublin on the way. We would not be permitted to deplane in Dublin, but would wait aboard the plane whilest the plane was readied for its crossing to Shannon.

It had been a while since we had flown on commercial airlines, and longer since our last transatlantic flight. We were amused to find out progress along the route of flight was displayed on television monitors throughout the cabins, keeping us apprised of the ground speed (550 mph), altitude (36,000 feet), outside air temperature (-50 F), miles to go (3,980 miles) and so forth. It seemed much longer than it ever did when Bill was in the Navy, but of course, then he was younger, and he perhaps didn't remember, accurately, how long it had taken.

The skies were overcast when we descended to Dublin for our first landing, and there was no real perception of being in a foreign land, for we remained aboard the plane. It took an hour and 30 minutes to sweep the plane for untoward devices before allowing it to continue to Shannon Airport, but the crossing from Dublin in the east to Shannon in the west took only 21 minutes. "If the skies were clear," we were told at takeoff, "you would soon see the 40 shades of green for which Ireland is famous." They weren't clear, and we didn't see the green. So we asked the stewardess what those 40 shades were. She didn't know.

Once off the airplane and through Immigration, we made our way downstairs to the baggage claim, found our luggage and lugged it away toward the coach park (the parking lot for busses, that is). There, we saw a few coaches with large projections above the windshield that hung down before the same, much like insect antennae. We learned they were referred to as "Dog ears." None of the busses was clearly identified as "our" bus, so we turned back to see that our tour group was following us, our tour leader, Amanda, leading them behind us. When I expressed amazement that we hadn't seen any of them in the terminal, Amanda said, "That's all right, we were just following you to our bus." Then in mid-morning, we boarded the coach, met Joe, the driver, and set off for the Cliffs of Moher.

We had been told the Cliffs of Moher were spectacular, to the extent that Bill feared he would be disappointed. He wasn't. There was a fresh (cold - about 50 degrees) breeze (gale force wind) to awaken us from our transatlantic stupor. The cliffs themselves were, indeed, spectacular in their height and straight drop into the sea. There were what appeared to be wee birdies (Linnets, we were told, later) fluttering around the face of the cliffs. There was a pathway up an opposing hill from which the cliffs are to be viewed, with a tower at the height of that hill. We, being older and not willing for such a climb, made our way slowly to the half-way viewing stage and took some photos and videos. Our new digital video camcorder got a swift indoctrination that morning, as did Bill in its operation.

From the cliffs through County Clare, we saw interesting scenery and heard trivia that only the staunchest of buffs would recall, and learned that Bill's friend, Jerry Droney, had not been mistaken when he said that Clare was just rocks. Though the land was green and lush, the cottages short-walled, by American standards, and many were thatched (t'ached, as they say), the land itself was infested with rocks. Amanda, also, didn't know what the 40 shades of green were called, so we kept wondering as we wandered through the passing landscape. We found Galway and the Menlo Park Apartments. We were assigned three-bedroom apartments - ours was shared with an Optometrist and two teen-aged girls. Dinner consisted of chicken, veggies, coffee and some kind of pie for dessert.

On Day two, we had our first of many Irish breakfasts. For all the hype, Bill had expected more food than could logically be consumed by a company of soldiers, but was pleased to find it was no more than he had eaten when in grade school, with a few exceptions: he hadn't had sausage for breakfast then, and it was either cereal or hot food, not both! We found more of the rocks to which Jerry Droney had alluded. While they weren't all in Co. Clare, we found them in Co. Galway and all around Connemara. The fields could never be tilled without beating plow shares into bits of broken metal. As Down-Easters would say, there were "two rocks for every dirt." We didn't get to stop much in Connemara, but we did visit Connemara Marble, where we saw the four types of marble quarried in Ireland — White, Black (petrified mud, we were told), Green (because of the copper in the soil) and Rose. Bill was left unattended for a while as Becky sought the relief of a restroom, and he bought her a green marble Rosary, since her Anglican Rosary had lost part of its beads. We visited Kylemore Abby and sang our first concert at the neo-gothic church modeled after the cathedral of "Norge", which I later learned was spelled Norwich. In the church, we again saw the four types of marble, and we found the acoustics ideal for our singing. We sang again that night (Saturday - pronounced "Saherday" by guide and driver alike) in Galway, at St. Nicholas Collegiate Church for a Roman Catholic mass, since the Augustinian Church (RC) was using that church building whilest theirs was being re-roofed. We were well received, and even invited to partake (even our Protestant members) of the elements during communion.

Sunday, our third day in Ireland, we rode the bus to Longford, the County "Town" for County Longford. Longford Methodist Church welcomed us as the sermon, et al. After a chilly start to our singing, the men's Barbershop Quartet sang their piece, "Everybody Wants to Get to Heaven," which ends with, "... but nobody wants to die!" When they delivered that last line, the smiles were open and full, and in the very back corner of the congregation, Bill spotted his sister's (Susy's) face. There was a woman (Marianne) there who looked just like her. There was also a woman (Maureen) who looked just like a nun (Sr. Kathleen) Becky had known during her Hospital Chaplaincy. We were treated to a Pot Luck dinner, of which Amanda and Joe were ignorant, that not being an Irish custom. It had, though, been part of Longford Methodist's repertoire since one of their former ministers had spent some time in an American church and brought that custom back with him. It was just like the pot-luck dinners we have here, with chicken, meatloaf, rolls, salads, pasta, tea, coffee and desserts. It was splendid.

From that church in the middle of the country, we rode to Clonmacnois monastery, south of Athlone. The tourguide pronounced the name Clan MacNoise (NO-eez), but Bill had seen the original Irish name written as Clon Macnóis (Clun Mahk KNOWsh). It was there we heard that the MacLaughlins and O Laughlins were descended from the old Kings of Meath. He was particularly interested, since there are several generations of Laughlins in his family. The monastery predates Christianity, and was a Celtic monastery, before that. Located at the point where the River Shannon crosses the High Way (Slí Mór - shlee MORE), the original two main traffic arteries of the land, the river from North to South and the raised land feature from east to west. Enemies could be seen approaching from any direction from the towers (found in most religious sites). The towers were look-out posts, priesters (to hide away the priests during raids) and bell towers - multi-purpose structures, with doors 3 meters from the ground - reportedly because there was no foundation, and the 3 meters of brick-work was necessary for stability, but also for added security, since they pulled up the ladders during the raids to keep the predators away.

From thence, on to Dublin. We checked into our Ardmore hotel room (Ard means tall or high, and mór means big, so Bill called it the Big, Tall Hotel) for the first night. We found TG-4 (Telefis Gaeilge a ceathair), their Irish-speaking television station, and watched a program where the main characters didn't use a spoken language, so their communication was in bubbles (in Irish), as in the comics, and at the bottom, everything was subtitled in English. We didn't exactly know which set of words we were to read, but it didn't much matter. We understood nearly everything that was said! That same night, there was a session (Seisiún - an impromptu traditional music program like what we've known in Jack of the Wood, here in Asheville). It was more like a céilí (KAY-lee), a dance-party, but presented as a demonstration, like at the Grandfather Mountain Highland Games, with everything planned and announced, an audience that looked bored, etc.

The next day, we visited the Book of Kells at Trinity College. Bill and Becky didn't get to see the book, itself, because the viewing area was ringed three deep with onlookers who wouldn't move, nor would they have been able to if they wanted. We did, though, purchase books with an explanation of the Book of Kells, as well as a CD-ROM which contains all the viable pages of the Book itself. That Noon, we sang our fourth concert at St. Anne's Church of Ireland, where we met Amanda Smith, a concert coordinator. When we asked this Amanda about the 40 shades, she mentioned several, like, "Green, Somewhat Green, Nearly Green, Almost Green, Greenish," and so forth. Becky and I fleshed out the list that night in our room. We spent a few hours of free time wandering around the city, visiting shops, speaking with the natives about ourselves and our Irish Studies. Our favorite shop was call "Knobs and Knockers," and was a store that sold doorknobs and door knockers (Of course! What were you thinking?) We had a wonderful time. Bone weary, we were grateful to have seen the city of Dublin, but were more grateful for the bed that night.

After a second night of rest, we pressed on to Kilkenny. Most of the tour members visited Kilkenny castle, but were not permitted to take pictures of the castle, inside. Bill took some of the exterior, being fascinated with the then-dry moat with a door somewhat below the high water mark. We decided it was the door through which they would skim off the dead bodies from the moat. We walked around the city, bought Bill a wrist watch (Casio - an Irish watch made in Japan) to replace his defunct one which would reset itself to midnight after being checked at about 5:00 a.m. It was a wonder we awoke on time, for twice already it had malfunctioned in only four days! We also found a wonderful pub (Marble City Bar) where we met new friends (Irish folk) and exchanged gifts with them (Becky's quilled flower for their store-bought shamrock, luck-for-luck) as well as two others from our tour. Sharon, one of the two from the tour, ordered a meal without the "Mushy Peas," because she didn't like peas. For spite, though, she tasted her sister's peas, decided she did like them and ordered a bowl of them for herself. In a shopping center we found a bookstore, where we bought a card game (Snap) in Irish, a "Horrible History" book about Ireland:

"Sometimes a dead person would be made a saint because their bones or a bit of their body were said to cure the sick. Dymphna was an Irish Christian girl who ran away from her pagan father. When her father caught her, he killed her. No big deal. But when her bones were found they were said to cure people of madness, so she was made a saint."

In a wee cartoon illustration, the tour guide is showing a skull with a knife in it. "This is where he stabbed her!" A woman asked, "Was he mad?" and the guide explained, "Well, he wasn't very pleased."

"Bits of saints, 'relics', were worshipped wherever they were kept, and people went around collecting saints' bones! (Don't try this in your local cemetery because grave-robbing is against the law, these days.)"

"History has never been so horrible!"

We also found a Beginner's Irish Dictionary. It has pictures (the pictures are in Irish, Bill says) and Irish words and phrases to describe them, and English translations provided.

We drove to Waterford, checked into our hotel, the Belfry - easily the best we visited - then went out to sing a concert in Wexford at St Iberias Church. Becky found some excitement, there. Third song from the last, she started feeling a little different, and by the start of the last song, her hearing and vision faded away. She made it, in time, to a pew and sat out the last piece, was treated to water and attention by no fewer than three of the attendees - and several of the choir members, Bill learned later. In fact, Bill, tucked away in the back row, had been so intent on watching the director that he hadn't known that anything was amiss, though he wondered why the three attendees got up at the same minute and went separate ways only to end up in the front of the sanctuary.

Wednesday, we visited the Waterford Crystal factory, found their prices quite out of reach of our conscience. Bill decided that the only reason to purchase it was to show off to friends. It isn't, of course, 100% accurate, but he'll never admit it. Also, we visited Blarney Castle where those who wished could make the God-awful climb to kiss the much-bussed stone in hopes of winning the Gift of Gab. Amanda had told us we needn't bother, though, for we each were full of it (that is, already had more Blarney than necessary). While the others climbed, kissed and descended, we went shopping at the Blarney Woollen Mill for Aran sweaters, some crystal (souvies for friend and family at their request) and a CD of an Irish comedian - which we had shipped home with the sweaters.

Thursday we rode around the Ring of Kerry, visited a souvenir store - where we were treated to complimentary Irish Coffee, and bought two T-shirts with a Sheep "Trad" (traditional-music) group on them, superscribed with the Irish phrase, "Sin scéal eile," ("That's another Story!"). Amanda had to return home, for her father had what was thought to be a heart attack, but turned out to be something less serious and life threatening. Our new tour guide, Erica, was not quite as up-to-date with the particular part of the country we were touring, so Chuck, the director of St. Eugene's choir, decided to fill in for her. "This is a large rock, on our left, one of the largest in this part of Ireland, significant for having been in this very spot since Christopher Columbus worshipped at St. Nicholas' Collegiate Church in Galway," and so forth.

We stopped in Killarney, where we sang our last concert at St. Mary's Church of Ireland. We were treated to Jaunty-Cart rides to the church, and had a wonderful time bantering with the drivers. As Becky had been praised for doing the right thing and sitting down instead of falling down, the young woman who sang the solo part of "The Rain is Over and Gone" followed suit and sat down the song before her solo, but was able to rally and sing as well as ever. Eyes closed, you'd swear she was black and somewhat large. Eyes opened, though, I was always shocked to learn that a small, white woman could sound like that!

Friday we found our way to Limerick where we checked into the Jury's Inn for the night, then went shopping for replacement undies, since we had taken our worst with us, with the intent of discarding them along the way. Erica announced, for those wanting to purchase Bridget Jones' Knickers, that Dunnes was a good place to shop. It was, and it was only four blocks from the hotel. From our room on the second floor (third story - first story being ground floor, then first, then second), we taped scenes along the river Shannon, including a swan swimming. Dinner that night was at Bunratty Castle where we were treated to a medieval dinner. A couple celebrating their 30th anniversary had been selected Earl and Lady of the evening, and they had to approve the soup before it could be served to us. An unsuspecting member of the "guests" (Bill himself) was selected to sample the pork spare ribs, reputed to be the very finest in all Ireland. Since he hadn't eaten spare ribs in Ireland before, Bill had no trouble declaring they were the finest he had tasted anywhere in Ireland. So far, the chef was batting 100 - and more importantly, was still alive to brag about it. During the meal, Chuck (of faux-tour guide fame, above) was "arrested" for taking liberties with the ladies, a crime for which he could not, entirely, be unsuspected. In order to gain his release, he had to sing. Well, since he had the opening solo to "Followers of the Lamb," he sang that opening, and the choirs joined in to echo him. Some of the other attendees, not knowing we were a touring choir, remarked to one of the members, "How fortunate you all knew that song." (Gregg, David - save your pennies, and one day go, do the same - you'll never regret it!)

The table next to ours was filled with a German socker team who thought they were at Oktoberfest, or something, and followed our song with one of their own. They were so obnoxiously drunk, and so obviously didn't understand two words of English ("Shut up!"), the Butler (Master of Ceremonies) had to advise them they must be quiet or they will be asked to leave. I'm sure they didn't understand, but they did, reluctantly, quiet themselves down.

Oh, and lest we forget to mention, our substitute tour guide, Erica, asked Bill a question as we were waiting for the luggage to be loaded on the bus in Limerick for our trip to Shannon Airport. Bill answered, without realizing it, in an Irish accent. Erica looked surprised, and commented to another tour guide nearby, "See, he's even perfected his Irish accent!" Then it was Bill's turn to look surprised, and we all had a great laugh about it.

We have too many pictures to post all of them here, so over the next few updates, time permitting, we'll post a few at a time and let you see what we enjoyed during the trip.

Until the next time...

Love & Hugs
& Smith