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Ireland - Part 2
Written by: Donald Miserandino
The wild geese will always return to mother.
We spent all day with Yeats, and at night we enjoyed a “Yeats” supper, a treat arranged by “Discover Sligo Tours.” We had the pleasure of meeting Paula Gilvarry, a leading Sligo chef. The discussion covered Yeats, his life, times and what we had seen on the afternoon’s tours. In fact, several poetry readings later, both guests and host felt as if Yeats had been with us for dessert. The meal and Yeats were a taste of Irish culture and a part of Sligo in particular. A good taste leaves you wanting more, and I had just begun to eat….
With sturdy shoes and a pleasant smile, I greeted the morning sun…wind…clouds and….rain. I am told this is typical of the weather: ever changing. Well, today I dressed dry and warm for a tour of the archaeological sites in county Sligo. For the next several hours we visited stone-age burial sites, or what today’s archaeologists think were burial sites. It seems the people of the time had no pencils so they couldn’t leave a message as to why they placed huge ton stones in patterned positions all over the county. Our guide showed us several of the more prominent dolmens at Carrowmore. While their purpose may be open to interpretation, I certainly don’t want to alienate people who could move 3-ton stones. I say let them put the stones where they want, and don’t get them mad!
Later in the morning we arrived at Oideas Gael, an organization whose focus is introducing and promoting the artistic, still present, living linguistic skills of Ireland. Here, our guide gave us a short introduction to Irish history and language development. This laid the groundwork for a fuller understanding of the Irish and provided a background for almost the whole trip. I learned my second word of Irish: Fir or Men. Welcome and the men’s lavatory, I’m off to a good start.
With a guide from Oideas Gael we went to see a fishing outport. The boats take off and land in a small coastal bay set in among large boulders. Lobster pots and fishing rigging were set up for a late run. The rustic beauty of the mountains, sea and ancient house ruins was overwhelming. I wondered how the people could make a living off such mountainous and rocky land. My answer came in the bleating of hundreds of sheep that came over the hillside. They walked around us almost examining us, as if wondering why we had the nerve to be on their path. I wondered why each had a colored dot on their back. I was informed that it was to allow each farmer to distinguish his own sheep from the crowd. That’s a good idea but makes for a terrible pastoral picture. After a time at the port, we left to try the sport of hillwalking. Not just any hill but the highest sea cliffs in Europe: Sliabh Liag. Oh yeah! Nothing but the best for us. Our bus went up a one lane road-- hoping that no one was coming down. (Get away from the
windows, freeze in the seats, and don’t look down.) We got to a parking area and were met by a guide from Oideas Gael, who jumped out of her car, greeted us and then took off at 100 miles per hour up the hillside. I tried to follow. I really did. But the ocean view was distracting, and soon I had to slow down to take pictures and breathe. She returned a time later still refreshed and light hearted. She then herded me back to the bus, bleating like the sheep I had become. I learned a great lesson about the air of Ireland. It tastes better if you eat slowly. The bus trip down the road was made less adventurous by our mountain guide who drove her race car in front of us to clear the road.
Tonight we stayed in the Tara Hotel in Killybegs, a modern hotel built across from the fishing port where the ship’s appeared to be geared out and ready to go out for the next days catch. A plaque along a road tells of three ships that entered Killybegs Bay from the Spanish Armada in 1588. Two of the ships were wrecked, and a third repaired and headed for Scotland with survivors. This ship later sank off the Irish Coast with almost a full loss of all aboard. The town of Killybegs clings to the mountainside and is divided by a small stream that winds down to the sea.
Today we visited the home of Derek Hill, a painter called Glebe House. He died several years ago, and his home was left to the government and opened to the public. Many of his painting hanging on the walls in each room are gift from friends who happened to be famous. He even had them hanging on his bedposts! Talk about being in love with your art. Mr. Hill’s residence was maintained as a museum but unlike a typical museum, one could get very close to the paintings, but don’t touch. Yes, that is a Picasso. Each room was filled with his work and various other collections on display. The interesting part for me was that the building was maintained like he never left, but was just gone off the day.
We left Glebe House and headed down the road for visit to a real castle: Glenveagh Castle in Glenveagh National Park. The castle was built about 1870 by John Adair, a rich landowner, who had no hesitation about accumulating vacant land around Lough Beagh, particularly when he evicted the farmer to make it so. Various owners took possession up 1975, when the lands were purchased by the National Parks and the owner later gave the Glenveagh Castle to the nation.
So, what did I learn was the best about this trip to Ireland? The people! Have a specific location that you want to focus on and meet all the people you can. Talk to everybody. On a short stop in Donegal, I purchased a Donegal Tweed cap at Magee’s Shop. On the inside it said, “Joy and health to you who wear this,” and it was signed by D. Flood, the weaver. The salesman assured me that this was on original Donegal cap, and there really was a weaver named Flood. I believe him.
Part 1
Part 2
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