Daingean Shéarlais

My Mom recently sent me this photo she took of me last summer with a tour group at Charles Fort, located outside of Kinsale in County Cork, Ireland. See if you can tell where I might be in this shot...



Fun Fact: I spent several hours meandering around the fort by myself, snapping tons of photos. They closed and locked the gate on me (actually not that uncommon - there were a couple other sheepish tourists let out by the jovial tour guide). Suffice it to say that Mom was not happy, having been waiting outside the gate for some time.

Tastes of Europe: A Food Tabblo

In June of 2008 I took a trip to Ireland, Hungary, and England. Experiencing different food is one of my favorite parts about traveling abroad, so I decided to dedicate a tabblo to a few of the meals I had in my travels. You can read about my entire journey on my blog. ... See my Tabblo>

"There's no one as Irish as Barack O'Bama!"

Pure awesomeness ahead:

O’Leary, O’Reilly, O’Hare and O’Hara
There’s no one as Irish as Barack O’Bama
From the ould Blarney stone to the green hills of Tara
There’s no one as Irish as Barack O’Bama

You don’t believe me, I hear you say
But Barack’s as Irish as was JFK
His grandaddy’s daddy came from Moneygall
A small Irish village, well known to you all

Watch it. Amazing. And here I thought my O'Bama shirt was just goofy!

Props to Cheese Freiman for the link.

Day 8 (Part I): A Relatively Excellent Meal

This is one of a series of entries from my travel journal chronicling my recent trip to Europe. You can click here for the archived entries.

Day 7 | Day 8 (Part II)

Ireland Photo Gallery

Cork Airport, Cork City, Co. Cork, Rep. of Ireland 13/06/08

I'm currently waiting to board my flight from Cork to Dublin after a very easy and successful drive here. I bid farewell to Mom, who dropped me off and has another day in the Old Country before she flies out on Saturday. I made sure to give myself plenty of time to get here so I have some time to kill. Seems like the perfect opportunity to recount yesterday's events.

All week I had been yearning to try the fabled Irish breakfast, specifically black pudding (blood sausage). I awoke bright and early and headed over to La Jolie Brise to order their Full Irish Breakfast, consisting of both black and white pudding, bacon, sausage, egg, and tomato - all pan-fried. Coffee, OJ, and toast were included at €7.50 - not bad at all in this land of culinary highway robbery.

It was a great meal, although I've never been more thirsty - shockingly salty, especially the bacon. I was pleasantly surprised with the pudding as well. Black pudding is a mixture of pork, oats, herbs, spices, and of course pig's blood. (I noticed that the grocery store versions contained about 18% of it.) It's actually far less meaty than typical pork sausage and has a slightly bready texture and spicy taste, with a bit of sweetness due to the blood (the white pudding is the same sans blood of course, so lacks this level of sweetness and depth of flavor). I liked the black pudding quite a bit and preferred it to the white.

After breakfast Mom and I headed out to Rosscarbery, the main town in the general area from which my great-grandparents on my Mom's maternal side came. We took the R597 out of Rosscarbery to the tiny village of Drombeg, where there is an impressive stone circle dating from 2000-500 BCE. This was far more impressive than the first stone circle we saw. The two tallest stones (the "portal" stones) were about 5' high, and the rest of the slightly shorter stones made a circle some 10' or so in diameter. During the winter solstice the sun shines through the portal stones and hits the axial, or recumbent, stone, lying horizontally directly opposite the portal stones. In the center of the circle was a small plot - presumably a more modern addition - filled with offerings of one sort or another - flowers, seashells, coins. I tossed in a few euro cents because it seemed like the thing to do.

On the same main site about 50 yards from the circle were a couple other Bronze Age sites - the remains of a couple huts (mere stone foundations/outlines) and a very interesting communal cooking area with a well, a trough, and a hearth. My hungry Celtic forebears would build a fire and heat up rocks until they were red hot, then roll them into the trough, filled with fresh water from the well. This would heat the water in the trough so that it could be used in cooking. Experiments have shown that it was possible to boil 70 liters of water in about 18 mins. using this method, and the water would remain hot for some three hours thereafter. [Ed: My numbers might be off here but that's the gist of it.] An amazing site, perched on a hillside, with a tremendous view of the surrounding hills and the sea off in the distance.

After Drombeg we headed back to Rosscarbery and walked around a bit. There was a very nice town center and a church up the hill hidden a bit from the main road. Very scenic. We then tried to find Barleyhill, back down the N71 toward Skibbereen. This proved a mite difficult as small town districts like this are on the maps but not necessarily marked with any signage. Also, although technically called a "town" district it might in actuality be nothing more than a handful of houses and farmland scattered over several square miles. After a couple back-and-forth attempts we took a turn onto what looked to be the correct turnoff into rolling farm country - serious hicksville (which for Ireland is saying something). I was fairly confident we were in the right area - there was not a house standing anymore, but we knew that my Nana's mother had come from the Barleyhill area. A friendly local farmer confirmed that we were indeed in Barleyhill, although we were in West Barleyhill rather than East Barleyhill and we possibly wanted East Barleyhill; or perhaps it was vice-versa. Either way we figured we had succeeded. We snapped a few shots of horses and cows and set off to meet the rest of my relatives in Castletownshend for lunch at the famous Mary Ann's.

This is a restaurant with great distinction in Ireland, from what I understand. It began in the 1840's, has gone through several changes in ownership, has won many awards and is in countless guidebooks and recommendations as a top seafood restaurant. This was reason enough to check it out but we also had a tenuous family connection with the owner, Fergus O'Mahony. Fergus was related to one of my Nana's first cousins - therefore a cousin of some complicated degree of removal to me.

We had a fantastic lunch, one of the best I've ever had - long, leisurely, with fabulous food and company. I started off with the seafood chowder - not a complex broth but brimming with big pieces of fish and fresh vegetables. A simplified departure from my experience at the Fishy Fishy Cafe, but definitely a welcome one. I was able to sample some starters from around the table as well - delightful mussels in basil & cream; fried goat cheese with a sweet chili relish; smoked salmon as part of a cold seafood salad. All were delicious. For my main I chose the filet of plaice (a white fish similar to cod) stuffed with leeks and crabmeat in a creamy white wine sauce. Fabulous! I sampled the scallop special as well - seared scallops with an herb mushroom & crab risotto. Quite tasty, all. With our food the table got a big plate of yellow chips (fries), mixed veggies and a gigantic dish of mashed potatoes. We were served by a friendly if slightly hard-to-understand Polish young man. Nobody could resist ordering dessert given the ostentatious dishes we had seen going by to other tables as we ate. I chose the apple and rhubarb crumble which was simply delicious, served with creamy vanilla ice cream and surrounded in a sort of raspberry-vanilla sauce.

After dinner we introduced ourselves to Fergus and asked him for help with directions to the fourth and final destination on the Sullivan Family Tree Tour at Bawnishall Cross Roads. Fergus - a busy man and rather a big deal in Ireland's burgeoning gourmet dining industry - dropped everything he was doing and launched into a nonstop stream-of-consciousness speech:

"Oh yes we were in the States a few years ago - Trish, my wife, and I - but the last time was before that awful man was elected President. Ooooooh, how I hate those Republicans. Corrupt, all of 'em! We here love the Clintons. Love them." He indicated a photograph of Bill Clinton from a benefit in Dublin some years prior. "A most charming man. I don't think Obama's the man for the job. They'll shoot him before he gets to the White House. But yes now where are ye from? Boston - what part? Milton...is that on the North Shore? South Shore, right. Now [my relatives] lived in Chelsea. I remember Daniel had the big dog. You shoulda seen the food that man would feed it. Three dogs couldn't have eaten it! Thing was enormous. I used to take it out for a walk and it'd be panting for hours after we got back. That dog died of a heart attack. Dan killed him with kindness, he did. Now Jake's brothers were rebels. Our family was always Fianna Fail, always supported the cause. All three of them left Ireland and headed for America. Never came back. The Free State Army was after them. Never came back home. Aye, driving here can be tough. Stay to the left! A few years ago I was home for James' funeral - that would've been ninety-seven. Was playing golf in Florida and found meself a few times with a car comin' right at me. Forgot meself to drive on the right! At night it's especially tough. Lovely country, though, America. They just had a tornado in Iowa yesterday. Ran through a Scout camp it did. Killed nine children. Tragic, absolutely tragic. Here, follow me and I'll show you where me grandmother was born, it's just around the corner. That little house right there with the bay windows. Now me brother's house. My other brother lives next door there. How's the economy in Massachusetts? Real estate is just crazy over there. My brother bought a huge house in Florida for $200,000! Unbelievable. Around here houses start at €400,000! I'm on a diet now - lost 2 1/2 stone over the last few weeks. Smoked salmon and beef stroganoff is all I eat. You should've seen me five weeks ago! I looked like the fattened calf. Did'ye like our fresh homemade brown bread? Let me give you a loaf to take with you."

Fergus was incredible. Friendly, charming, hilarious, generous, and very helpful. After giving us a big loaf of his brown bread he wished us good luck and said, "Perhaps I'll see you in America!" Once Bush leaves office then Fergus will bring himself to come back to the US. In a poll I read in the Irish Times it said that only 7% of Irish would vote for McCain - Hillary had a few more percentage points of support over Obama. They love the Clintons over here.

We checked out the impressive church in Castletownshend (which is a small town with a nice harbor, the church, and only one other bar/restaurant aside from Mary Ann's from what we could tell) and then went off to find the Bawnishall Cross Roads.

Again, Bawnishall is a town district that is unmarked by signage, but Fergus had told us that once we reached the crossroads that had the sign for the Toe Head road, then that would be the right spot. We hit the crossroads as Fergus had described in our two-car caravan and talked to some locals to confirm that we were indeed in the correct area. They were, as is evidently the case in West Cork, wonderfully friendly people, willing to drop everything to help a stranger out. Now Bawnishall from what I could tell consisted of a couple farms and three or four houses in close proximity ("Oh! Boh-NEEE-shall you mean!") so everyone had at least heard of the Sheehans, the descendants of whom still lived somewhere in the area although nobody was sure where. This was the one place where we had relatively good intelligence that the original house in which my Mom's grandfather grew up was still standing. After much deliberation, talking amongst themselves, and conferring with all the local passersby, it was determined that the old Sheehan house was literally right in front of us at the crossroads. This was a very good thing - unfortunately the house had fallen into ruin for some time and was purchased by someone who knocked it down and was building a big, modern house on the old site. Fortunately the original outhouse stood on the side - a curious juxtaposition with the huge modern house in the midst of construction. Also, part of the original wall remained in the back and was seamlessly integrated with the new wall - an appropriate tribute to the old while making room for the new. Although we couldn't be 100% certain that this was in fact the correct house, everyone seemed pretty confident that this was "where the old Sheehan house was." An amazing feeling to be connected to a few stones, a small plot of land some thousands of miles across the Atlantic in a foreign land.

"You're standing on the same land where your great-grandfather once stood, dearie," said one of the local women who helped us (actually she was visiting from Cork City but she had friends in the area).

Indeed, an amazing feeling.

We headed down the road back to Baltimore and headed to Casey's for a final drink with everyone together. My aunt, uncle, and cousin were staying in Baltimore until Saturday, driving to Dublin, and staying through until Monday. Mom was heading up to Cashel to check out the Rock and the surrounding area and then staying over in Cork before catching her flight home on Saturday. And I, well, here I am at Dublin Airport now around 2PM, awaiting my 4:00 flight to Budapest, Hungary. (I finished my Cork-Dublin flight while writing this entry for those actually paying attention.)

---

A few notes on Guinness:

To start, a poured pint here is different from all but the most legitimate Irish pubs in the States (the ones in which the bartender speaks with a brogue). The two-part pour is a process that should take no less than four or five minutes, and often seems to take longer. The first pour fills the pint glass about 3/4 of the way, and then the bartender lets it rest for a few minutes to let the head settle. Then he goes off to tend to other customers, tidy up behind the bar, or even come out from behind the bar to gab with the regulars for a bit. After this the pint is topped off with a perfect finishing pour - the head is a wonderful nitrogenated foam forming a perfect meniscus on the rim of the glass. Even then it's best for the patron to let the pint sit for a couple minutes to let the foam settle into the head properly. Whether all this actually makes it taste better, or even different, isn't something I can in good conscience comment on (only because I don't think it matters a whit after my very informal experimentation) but it's just the Way It's Done.

Because of all the time involved, the corollary to being prepared for this process is that when you order your next pint, be sure to order it well before you've finished your current one. Ideally you should have a fresh pint poured and waiting for you while you finish your current one. This means when you finish, you will have a properly poured pint that has already settled enough to be enjoyed. I found that a good rule of thumb is to order the next round when the level of stout has reached the curving-in point in the standard stout pint glass (this of course assumes a leisurely rate of consumption. Individual mileage may vary, especially on St. Patty's Day). I have arrived at this conclusion only after some rigorous, scientific testing this week.

Oh, and you know how everyone says that Guinness tastes better in Ireland? I disagree. I think a draught in Ireland tastes the exact same as that in the States (and presumably Honk Kong, Vladivostok, and Ulan Bator, for that matter). Not surprising considering that Guinness is a huge international brand that is quite effectively mass-marketed by its owning company (which isn't even Irish). However, the Guinness definitely feels better over here. It's a far more enjoyable, almost transcendent experience to have a drop of the black stuff on the Old Sod than anywhere else.

A small distinction, perhaps, but an important one.

Europe Trip 2008: Ireland Tabblo

I spent a week in Ireland with family from June 6-13, 2008. We stayed in the small seaside town of Baltimore, located in County Cork on the southwestern peninsula of the Emerald Isle. Here is a collection of pics (mostly mine but some taken by my Mom) of my travels around Cork, including the Beara Peninsula, Sherkin Island, Kinsale, Bantry, Glengariff, Skibbereen, and other places.

You can read my travel journal on my blog here.

I hope you enjoy the pics!

... See my Tabblo>

Day 7: Brevity Is the Soul of Writ

This is one of a series of entries from my travel journal chronicling my recent trip to Europe. You can click here for the archived entries.

Day 6 | Day 8

One Harbor Dr., Baltimore, W. Cork, Rep. of Ireland 12/06/08

It's coming up on midnight now. A very busy, intensely enjoyable day today. I must finish packing because I'm leaving early to get to Cork, fly to Dublin, and then hop on a plane to Budapest to meet my friend Jeff. I will have to recount today's events tomorrow! They were delicious.

Day 6: There's Something Fishy About Kinsale

This is one of a series of entries from my travel journal chronicling my recent trip to Europe. You can click here for the archived entries.

Day 5 | Day 7

One Harbor Dr., Baltimore, W. Cork, Rep. of Ireland 11/06/08

Today it was a journey to Kinsale, which used to be a major port and important strategic military town. It was about a two-hour drive as a straight shot but we pulled off at a couple spots for photos. The drive was incredibly scenic. We were heading toward Ballingspittle on the way to Kinsale but we were rerouted on a detour that took us to Garrettstown, which wasn't on any of our maps or in the guidebooks. It's a small village near Old Head of Kinsale, which is a spit of land extending out from the main coastline. There was a nice sandy beach there with a curved walkway - actual sandy beaches exist in Ireland! People were playing out on the beach, kids were in sea kayaks just offshore, all in front of farmland, farm machines working at cutting and baling hay, at the bottom of a valley with a majestic sky - sunlight bursting through a sky filled with big fluffy white and grey clouds. I stolled along a path that rimmed the seaside bluff - incredible shale reefs along the shore with breakwaters crashing against them. A lovely spot and we would never have come across it if it weren't for that detour! After a while we eventually made our way to Kinsale.

It was close to 1:00 when we arrived and we were positively famished from our journey, so we parked and promptly headed over to the Fishy Fishy Cafe in the heart of Kinsale. Mom had read a great deal about this place - all glowing reviews. Evidently Kinsale is the culinary Mecca of Ireland and has dining options for every budget from upscale through midrange to what passes for cheap eats in Ireland (dining out is expensive and almost disturbingly so given the anemic dollar).

Lunch was excellent. The cafe has a nice decor - a sort of art gallery feel with pieces from (local?) artists hanging up on the walls. It was rather noisy inside, but it was a lunch crowd and the air was filled with variations on the euphonic brogue so how can one complain? I was hungry, I had euros burning a hole in my pocket, and I was eager to sample what Fishy Fishy had to offer. Luckily they offered "tastes" which were 1/2 orders of many of their appetizers and entrées. Not surprisingly, seafood was their specialty.

We enjoyed some great white and brown bread along with rich, creamy butter and a sort of garlicky mustard spread before our order came. I started with a cup of the seafood chowder. Very interesting - not what I expected at all. It was a deep brown broth topped with crème fraîche and toasted sesame seeds. It had a very strong cumin taste to it - almost like a curry. No chunks or otherwise discernible pieces of fish, which was very disheartening to me. Instead it was a fine mix of microscopic pieces - almost as if they had put it through a food processor or mill. I'm sorry - when I order seafood chowder I want big chunks of fish so that I can determine what I'm actually eating, for one, and also because, well, it's nice to have some actual fish in there! But it did taste good, and it was an interesting departure from what I was used to. I also ordered the mussels and one of the specials: the wok-fried crab claws. The mussels were fantastic in a basil & cream sauce. I hadn't had them like this before and they were quite good. Also despite its being only a "taste" it was a very healthy portion. The crab claws were also good although I was struggling with them for a while. Evidently you're just supposed to suck the meat off the partially-opened shells; I spent forever picking bits out with my fork. Very tasty but a little unsatisfactory in terms of meat. I washed the whole lunch down with a couple Kinsale Lagers, which is an excellent brew. On the whole the Fishy Fishy Cafe is a great spot with delicious food. Service was a bit slow.

After lunch we hit the tourist office for some info on getting to Charles Fort. I used the gents' toilet while Mom was inside. Restrooms in Ireland, especially the public ones in my experience, have those troughs that go all the way down to the floor. A word to the wise: be very careful addressing such urinals while wearing sandals.

We set out on the walk to Charles Fort, about three miles outside town, around the harbor and through the small fishing village of Scilly. The fort is an impressive example of 16th century trace italienne fortresses - star-shaped citadels - which became virtually impregnable at their technological height in the 18th century before the advent of the explosive shell. The fort is a great ruin - it was actually garrisoned from the 1600's on up through World War I, and ended up being burned and left to ruin as an act of rebellion during the Irish Civil War in 1922-23. The fort has a long history and I got a great tour from a guide who spoke with a British, not Irish, accent. A splendid structure, and the view of Kinsale from the fort and along the walk is well worth the time and effort to get out there.

Once we got back to the car it was around 6:00 and we had a decent drive ahead of us back to Baltimore. I was hungry when we got back; Mom was going to snack for dinner and my relatives had just left a note that they were out to dinner at the "Baltimore Bar" and had left just 10 min. ago. I set out to join them but couldn't even find the place (turns out they meant the Baltimore Hotel but the bar was closed anyway because it was too early in the season.) After a bit of wandering around I decided to try Casey's, which is a hotel & restaurant just on the edge of town. I was one of two customers in the dark establishment but I was hungry and I had heard good things from my relatives, who had eaten there the previous night. I was a bit tired of seafood after today and the past week so I opted for the roast stuffed lamb special (even though seafood was their specialty) and a Guinness (of course). I had some difficulty with the friendly and good-intentioned (I assume, anyway) barkeep because of his particularly heavily accented clipped words.

"I'll have the lamb special," I declared, as brightly as I could in a pub so dark I could barely make out what was going on across the room (note: nothing).
"Lamb?" said he, abruptly and incredulously, unnecessarily so in my opinion for such a simple order. He said something completely unintelligible and I stared at him blankly. He flipped open the menu and pointed to the lamb, looking at me inquisitively. I did the same and repeated, "The lamb special."
"Lamb?"
"Yes, lamb."
"Vegpotatoorchipsandblarg?"
"Er...could I have those croucette potatoes?"
"Aye vegpotato. [entirely unintelligible]?"
"Yes, that sounds excellent."

The plate of lamb was good, although not fantastic. Slices laid over mashed potatoes with some kind of feeble mint sauce. The "vegpotato" turned out to be limp steamed carrots and broccoli and a couple potato balls lightly breaded and fried. I finished up and sipped on a second pint while I watched some of the football match. A couple old ladies came in: "Are you a local?" asked one as I nodded in greeting. This unintentional deception was rectified once I spoke. We chatted for a bit - they were on a 3-day holiday from Tipperary - and they bade me "Good luck on your holiday!" as they left. Another fantastic day ended after I made my way back home.

Day 5: A Climb Into the Family Tree

This is one of a series of entries from my travel journal chronicling my recent trip to Europe. You can click here for the archived entries.

Day 4 | Day 6

Bushe's Bar, Baltimore, W. Cork, Rep. of Ireland 10/06/08

I woke up bright and early today. I was the first to rise and I wasn't going to be left out in the cold again! After a hearty breakfast Mom and I hopped in the Focus to go on a Sullivan Family Tree tour of West Cork.

We drove back through Skibbereen and took the N71 toward Bantry (passing by or through such places as Church Cross, Abbeystrowney, and Balleydehob). We stopped in Bantry for a while to snap photos. Really lovely town on scenic Bantry Bay. We got back on the road toward Glengariff, but made a detour at Kealkill, where my grandfather's mother was baptised in the village chapel. I had actually been here back in 1991 when my aunt took me and my cousin and I remembered the small, whitewashed chapel when we drove up to it, although I had forgotten the details of its location and familial importance. We noticed that there was a sign for a stone circle nearby that wasn't on the map or in any of the guidebooks Mom had read. We ended up walking for a while up an ascending, winding road that climbed into the hills at a fairly steep incline. We got confirmation that we were headed the right way from a woman who was working outside her house as we passed it on our way up. She assured us that it was "just up the hill, through the gate" and pointed it out to us, indeed just up the hill a ways.

"Are there cows?" asked my Mom anxiously (she meant bulls, we having had some problems with their possible presence the day before on Sherkin Island).
"Cows?" asked the auburn-haired older woman, incredulously (and understandably so).
"Yes will we have to worry about any cows charging us?"
"Oh you mean the cattle. It's all me neighbor's land and he might have a sign up for cattle."
"Bulls?" queried Mom.
"Aye - but I don't think they're out today. You're young, you can run!"

Reassured thus we headed up to the gate (evidently many of the smaller stone circles reside on private farmland in Ireland). As I waited at the gate for Mom, having powered my way up the home stretch, a car came into view coming down the road from higher up the hill. The car pulled over and the woman asked me if I was waiting for a car to pass. I told her I was actually waiting for my Mom and once again confirmed that we were on the correct path to the stone circle ("through the gate and past the backhoe").

"Oh! D'ye know how to address a stone circle?"
"No..."
"Oh I wish I had time to show you! Listen to me: Walk up to the circle and try to calm yourself. Quiet your mind. Walk around it counterclockwise [or was it clockwise?] and make sure to enter ONLY through the portal stones which are at the north-northwest corner when Mars is in the acscendant."

Perhaps not verbatim but it was something to this effect. Detailed, complex, hopelessly new-agey in a communing-with-the-stones kind of way. Mom joined me, we bid adieu to the modern-day druidess, and walked up to the gate. Unfortunately it was secured so we vaulted over and approached the circle, which was somewhat anticlimactic (five small stones a foot or two high in a circle with a couple tall, thin stones of four feet or so arranged upright. Not exactly Stonehenge.). The view however was unbelievable on the hillside looking down into the valley - we could even see the chapel in the village down below. The entire time since we had hopped the gate, however, Mom had been yammering about the (nonexistent?) threat of bulls and being charged and/or gored by something (keep in mind that there wasn't even any "Beware of Bull" signage, which, in my limited experience, is put up as a matter of course and might as well say, "Farm Here").

At any rate she was making me increasingly paranoid; occasional lowing from what we would later determine to be a heifer some ways down the valley sounded like a furious monster of a bull - I could just picture the beast: jet-black with a big ring through its nose, nostrils flared with visible breath coming out in great puffs as he snorted aggressively, red-eyed and hoofing the ground in anticipation of running down some wide-eyed kid from the big city. We hurriedly snapped a few photos and scampered back to the gate, visions of a horrible bull-inspired maiming dancing in my head. It remains to be seen whether or not my pics will be blurred with the jittery movement of an irrationally terrified photographer.

After Kealkill we headed to Glengariff, which is yet another lovely Irish town. We took some pics and stopped in Quills gift & craft shop, where we picked up a few things and Mom started up a conversation with the ladies running the store about her grandmother. Evidently she, a Kennedy, had a name that "wasn't from around here." A bit of mystery added to the genealogical quest?

We ate lunch at the Hawthorne Bar, where I had a nice plate of fish 'n' chips (my first in Ireland) accompanied by a tall Bullmer's poured over ice - the perfect refreshing beverage on a hot, sunny day (as it has been for most of the week now - incredible!).

Glengariff is on the Beara Peninsula, and we did part of the so-called Ring of Beara, which is a drive around the peninsula over some hairy mountain roads but with some amazing views (Allegedly, anyway. The part we saw was definitely gorgeous, but we didn't drive far enough into the hills to get to the vertigo-inducing roads. Probably a good thing for my Mom's sanity and my life expectancy).

After leaving Glengariff we came to Adrigole, where my Mom's dad's father came from (a Sullivan). The village consisted of St. Fachtna's chapel and a square with four pubs in a row. Nary a residence to be seen... I was walking up to investigate the church and I heard, "Mike!" from a doorway to my right. I turned into this otherwise deserted pub and saw my relatives inside taking refreshment after their day's travels. Turns out they had done much the same itinerary as us although later in the day. We caught up with them as they were sitting with the older woman tending bar and an old bloke sipping on a pint at three in the afternoon. The gent was almost entirely unintelligible, although he cracked a few jokes about JFK.

It was very cool to see the cemetery outside the chapel and think, "My great-great-grandparents might very well be buried here somewhere." (My great-grandfather himself had come across the pond and died in America.) Unfortunately it was impossible to even guess at where they might be buried even if we had some relevant info (date of birth, death, first name, etc.) because literally four out of every five graves was an O'Sullivan. It was almost to the point of parody. But that's what it was like - local lineages were born, lived, and died in the same area and produced a cluster of the same surname. Along with our trip to Kealkill, I couldn't help but feel a certain connection to these places where my ancestors of several generations ago had lived.

After Adrigole we headed down to the nearby harbor - really a glorified dock with a few boats. The bartender in Adrigole gave us directions:

"Just outside town to the left."
"Will there be a sign?" asked Mom.
"Oh, yes. I should think so."
"...And will it say, 'Harbor'?"
"Yes, I should think so."
"Will there be boats there?"
"I should think so, yes."

The dock provided us with amazing views and photo ops of the surrounding hills.

Our final destination for the day was Castletownbere (also known as Castletownberehaven. I mean, why not tack on an extra couple syllables?). It's a sizeable seaport that's home to McCarthy's Bar, inspiration for the book McCarthy's Bar, by Pete McCarthy. This is a hilarious Bill Bryson-esque book of the author's travels in Ireland. Highly recommended.) Again we got a ton of great pics and headed home.

It was a fantastic, if long, day of touring. The landscape as one drives onto the Beara is breathtakingly beautiful. The road winds up into these gorgeous hills and it is incredibly green and there's blue water down below - simply amazing stuff. Description and even photographs do not do it justice - one has to experience it in person to appreciate it. I ended this excellent day as all excellent days should end - sipping on a Bulmers, watching the sun set over Baltimore Harbor while writing in my journal.

I never did get to properly address that stone circle.

Day 4: Bulls & Bulmers

This is one of a series of entries from my travel journal chronicling my recent trip to Europe. You can click here for the archived entries.

Day 3 | Day 5

Bushe's Bar, Baltimore, W. Cork, Rep. of Ireland 09/06/08

I woke up this morning shortly before noon to the sound of people leaving. I found myself alone, my Mom typically having refused to wake me up despite my interest in the day's activities. I had gone so far as to pull my blind all the way up the night before; it was partially successful as I awoke around 8:30 or so but quickly fell back asleep. Next thing I know it's 3 1/2 hours later and I'm all alone. I located a note on the kitchen table saying that everyone had gone off on the ferry to Sherkin Island. There were many trips in the afternoon on the ferry schedule so I opted to shoot for the 2pm ferry. I cooked up an "Irish" breakfast with eggs and bacon I had purchased the day before. The bacon was different than that in the States. Thicker, fatty around the edges, much saltier (if that's even possible) and tasted more like ham than what we Americans are used to. I imagine the cut of meat and curing process are very different. Although different, it was great along with the eggs, soda bread, and some tea. I caught some Irish soap operas as I ate (same bad plots and acting but with more interesting accents) and then made my way down to the ferry at the harbor.

Sherkin is a sizeable island just 10 minutes' ferry ride from Baltimore Harbor. There's an old friary that they've been reconstructing in recent years as well as a "castle" - really just a bunch of ivy-covered stones with a bunch of modern equipment lying around ruining what little historic effect it retained.

Only a few minutes after I had gotten off the ferry and had begun meandering up a path did I hear, "Mike! Michael!" and turned around to see my early-rising relatives just down the path behind me. We decided to head out to Sherkin Light, which is the small lighthouse that we had seen directly across from the Beacon yesterday. We walked down a path which we thought was the correct way (although with little confidence) and came across a small schoolhouse with a woman out front. Mom asked her the way to the lighthouse and she went to get her husband:

-"Oh it's been some time since I've taken the walk meself but it's a nice walk. Follow this path a ways and you'll come to a low stone wall. At the end of the wall turn...left...yes, left. Stay on that path and you'll come to a sign that says, "Caution: Bull" but don't worry, I don't think there's a bull there anymore."
-(General city-slicker nervousness, questioning glances, discussion of turning around and retracing our steps to go the other way.)
-"Well I think this way will be better. T'other might be a bit shorter but this is more scenic."

So we set off on a bit of a hike - bulls be damned in the name of scenery! - walking down a very quiet, country island path. We came upon a swan at ease in a cove. After we snapped a few shots she took off, skimming along the water with a great honking, sounding not unlike my uncle who had been suffering due to his allergies and the preponderance of flora around us. Eventually we made it to the end of the short stone wall which our guide mentioned and embarked on a hike up a path leading us to Horseshoe Bay. This was an idyllic hike through lovely greenery, the occasional cottage, and impressive vistas of hills, ponds, breakwaters, and other nice natural scenery. After a while we came right up in front of some Sherkin Islander's house that just overlooked Horseshoe Bay - and what an amazing sight it was. In true form to its name, the Bay carved out a wide circle from its narrow opening. The view was just incredible. Words fail me - clear blue water bordered by rocky promontories and beaches in a lush, green bowl of a valley - it was majestic.

At this point however we had to retrace our steps, being close to the southern tip of the Bay and having no way to cross if we had kept going. So we cut back and meandered down and around the Bay. We went down to the water's edge and took some cool pics at low tide. Very rocky with a lot of seaweed, moss, lichen, and flowers growing down by the shore, which provided us with a wonderfully colorful view. We regained our path and made it up and around to the opposite side of the Bay, past the Horseshoe Cottage Bed & Breakfast, where we came to a fenced-in area. The sign on the gate read:

Caution: BULL
Unauthorized Access Forbidden

Despite our local guide's warning us of this exact landmark, we were understandably nervous. The last thing one wants is to be gored to death trying to get a few pics of a lighthouse, right? My Mom was good enough to wander into the B & B and ask ("Oh we don't think there's a bull. Only cows.") so we pressed on with trepidation ("Liam, be sure to take off that red hat!") past the hopefully specious warning. My aunt's concern however did not extend to keeping my 11 year-old cousin out of the lead - or perhaps this was planned? Either way we trudged onward through a path that became less and less of one as we kept going forward, and had to dodge a large number of cowpies which appeared with increasing frequency and freshness. These were impressive excretory deposits, measuring about a foot in circumference and several inches high - wet, stinking mounds of processed grass having traveled through the cows' many stomachs and intestines. Amazing objects from a scatalogical perspective.

Just over the ridge we saw the lighthouse, which comprised a tiny cottage and a 15-foot high light tower, but the view - oh the view. It had to have been the most amazing, majestic, picturesque, pick-your-superlative view I have ever seen. Truly a jaw-dropping experience. It was a gorgeous, bright, sunny day and we could see clear across to the Beacon as well as the rest of Baltimore and a great deal of Roaringwater Bay. A tremendous experience, well worth the hike and theoretical bulls.

We made our way back to the ferry by taking the second route offered to us by our friend (would've saved us about 45 minutes' worth of time as well as innumerable brambles and cowpies but to be honest the way we went was far superior in terms of view, adventure, experience and enjoyment. Everyone else wanted to catch the 4:15 ferry (it was around 3:45) but I wanted to explore the rest of the island a bit having been abandoned by Mom that morning.

We parted ways and I went searching for the "Dock Studio," which I took to be some sort of artistic endeavor. The sign claimed it was 3/4 mile down the road. Even by Irish standards of distance, I walked for a long time without finding it. I decided to cut my losses rather than traverse the entire island and head to the Jolly Roger, one of two pubs on the island (apparently this is what Bob Clarke meant when he said, "a bit of a pub scene").

The place wasn't exactly bustling. There was a table of four or five laborers out front and a young local woman with her beautiful baby inside, along with the young female bartender with too many piercings and unflattering camouflage pants. The dogs running around the place inside and out outnumbered the people by at least 2:1. I grabbed a pint of Guinness and today's Irish Times and set to quenching my thirst, whiling away the time until the next ferry and trying to make sense of the upcoming Lisbon Treaty vote - a referendum for Ireland's participation in an otherwise unanimous EU treaty (curious that Ireland alone refers such decisions to the people instead of letting the politicians decide). I enjoyed my drink but it was difficult to fit in - one American amidst a group of Sherkin Islanders blathering away in English - albeit a slangy, heavily accented English - in which the only words I understood were the admittedly quite frequent profanities - so I drank up and left. Turns out the timing was good because the rest of the crew had to wait for the 17:00 ferry anyway because the earlier one had been cancelled.

We headed back to Baltimore. I sat outside Bushe's Bar for a few minutes in the brilliant sunshine enjoying my first extremely refreshing pint of Bulmers cider (I saw many others drinking it over ice - next time I get it I plan on doing the same). Back to the house to regroup and then I returned to Bushe's for a couple pints of Guinness, a crab sandwich (fresh, simple, and delicious) and some postcard- and journal-writing. My relatives joined me; Mom was convalescing. We took a sunset walk up along the hill behind the town which was very nice. We ended the night with wine, cheese and plans to head out to the Beara Peninsula tomorrow to check out where my grandfather's parents came from.

Day 3: Land of the Midnight Sun

This is one of a series of entries from my travel journal during my recent trip to Europe. You can click here for the archived entries.

Day 2 | Day 4

Baltimore, West Cork, The Republic of Ireland 08/06/08

I was awakened around noontime this morning by a persistent banging. It took me a few minutes to wake up from my deep slumber, but I finally jerked awake. At first I thought it was my Mom having returned from a morning of photography and forgotten her key. I ran downstairs and saw my uncle's face through the front door. They had arrived! I welcomed my aunt, uncle, and cousin to Baltimore and it was a bit of a déjà vu of cranky, tired, complaining travelers (as my Mom and I had been exactly the day previous). They regaled me and Mom (she returned soon after their arrival) with tales of their hairy travels from Shannon. It's a rite of passage for travelers flying into that airport I suppose. We had a chuckle at the similarities in our respective travails.

Our landlord, Bob Clarke, came by to pick up the security deposit and give us some info about the heat, showers, and some recommendations on local eateries, grocery stores, and sights. I then went out with Mom for a stroll around Baltimore. It's a small fishing town that's a popular destination for both the Irish and foreign tourists. There's a quaint town center overlooking the harbor. Sailing, water sports, cruises to islands in Roaringwater Bay, and other seafaring activities are what draw so many here. The scenery with the colorful little buildings on the water, surrounded by hills, with islands out in the distant bay, is beautiful (the enormous rusting skeleton of a dockyard building directly across the street from us notwithstanding).

While my relatives recovered, Mom and I decided to do some walking and photography around town. First we strolled down a path near the cottage to the Lifeboat Station, which is supported and run entirely by donations and volunteers. It's a small white building sitting on the beach overlooking the back inlet of Baltimore Harbor. We walked all along the beach, snapping some great pics of sailboats moored offshore, rusting derelict hulks run aground at low tide, and wonderful views of pretty little houses perched up on the surrounding hills, with the omnipresent fog rolling over the hilltops. We then walked through the town center and out to the Baltimore Beacon, about a 30 min. walk up into the hills just past the harbor entrance, looking out onto the Atlantic.

The Beacon itself is a squat stone tower, probably some 30 ft. high, that's simply been whitewashed (the last paint job was some time ago judging from the peeling). It sits high on this rocky promontory that is just absolutely majestic. The fog had rolled in thick and covered the top of the surrounding hills; sailboats and jet skis could only just be made out as they shot the gap in the straits below; across the way one could just make out a lighthouse perched on an even higher peak on Sherkin Island across the narrows. On either side of the Beacon were sheer cliff faces falling into sheltered coves covered in the slate or shale that comprises the shoreline of the area. It was windy, slightly chilly, but with the sun peeking through every so often. The lush, green hillsides; the path up bordered by stone walls; the dense fog rolling in and out was so mysterious - it felt otherworldly, fairy tale-like (or at least as if I were on a movie set). Several times Mom mentioned how easy it would be to "accidentally" push someone off the cliff. I made sure to not turn my back to her when I was near the edge, in case I had made one driving crack too many.

As we strolled back to town I was struck by a sudden headache and hunger pangs. Despite its being in and out all afternoon, the sun had done a Rudolph job on my face (I often get headaches from sun overexposure). This was undoubtedly compounded by lack of food and Guinness (up until now I had a mere tuna fish sandwich and some cheese, crackers, soda bread and a banana in a day and a half on the Emerald Isle). Time for some serious noshing. I also had yet to have my first pint of the Black Stuff - I had purchased a six-pack of bottles at the store in Skibbereen to keep at the house but they were the extra stout (good but not the draught). They were also tiny 250ml bottles, which somehow I failed to notice when I bought them. They were like those bottles they give you on airplanes. So I was fiending. We made it back and met up with the rest of the folks - to La Jolie Brise in the town center for dinner!

Right above the harbor, the town center is dominated by an outdoor patio serving several nearby establishments. La Jolie Brise was one that caught our eye. I had the most amazing mussels - a truly gigantic bowl of the mollusks swimming in a broth of white wine, onions, garlic, and what I would conservatively estimate to be several pounds of butter. A bowl of tasty chips (french fries) accompanied it. Possibly the best mussels I've ever eaten. Tender, fresh, delicious, and rich in that heavenly broth (so heavenly that I found myself dipping everything in it that would take to it - chips, pizza crusts, etc.). We ordered a couple pizzas as well - decent but nothing earth-shattering. A sauvignon blanc went very nicely with the mussels. My cousin and I picked up a couple ice cream bars from Cotter's next door for dessert (he opted for Twix; I Snickers) while my uncle picked up the bare essentials: bars of soap and a bottle of Côtes du Rhône. We headed back to the house - my Mom and aunt were bushed, as was I. My uncle and cousin went walking around as I drifted in and out of consciousness on the living room couch. As it was getting close to sunset I decided to rally and head out. I met my uncle and cousin on the way back into town; Liam went back while Staley and I headed to Bushe's Bar to grab a pint and watch the sunset. It was a brilliant way to end the day. That first pint of Guinness was pure magic, poured into a perfect head after the lengthy but necessary two-part pouring process. We grabbed one of the wooden beer barrel tables and chatted and sipped our pints while we watched the sundown.

An interesting thing about Ireland, and one that escaped me during my first visit (or perhaps I plumb forgot) is that it stays light here very late. One could still see spots of orange in the cloudy sky well after 10PM, and it was light for some time thereafter. Even as I write this at around 12:30 in the morning, the sky possesses a dim glow. We are close to the same latitude here as Alaska. Did you know that? I certainly did not.

The plan tomorrow is to take a ferry out to one of several islands out in Baltimore Harbor. Clear Island is rumored to be more scenic and the largest by far of all the islands (it is home to an Irish school for children & adults), whereas Sherkin Island has ruins of a fort and friary and "a bit of a pub scene" according to Bob Clarke. I think I know which one I'll prefer.

Day 2: Slow - Loose Chippings

This is one of a series of entries from my travel journal during my recent trip to Europe. You can click here for the archived entries.

Day 1 | Day 3

Shannon Airport - The Republic of Ireland 07/06/08

The flight passed fairly quickly. Some mild turbulence on the crossing. As we descended onto the Emerald Isle, I found this particular moniker to be well-earned. It's a cliché but I can't help but repeat it - verdant, gently rolling hills; fields as far as vision allows divided into innumerable plots of varying size by hedgerows. At the early hour, with dawn just having broken, the sun glinting off the wing as we banked steeply into our final approach, the entirety of the ground was covered in a thick white fog, such that where it lay thickest it gave the appearance of snow. As we neared the ground, it seemed as if we were descending into a cloud layer. Thankfully our pilot had the skill necessary to land us in the near ground-level fog.

Took some time for us to collect our bags from the baggage claim. It struck me, as I saw the same hideous floral print suitcase pass by me for the umpteenth time that there are a couple advantages to ugly luggage - very easy to recognize and no chance of anyone else taking it by mistake.

We headed over to Hertz and grabbed our rental, a Ford Focus (upgraded from the economy class toy car). I took the role of navigator as Mom got behind the wheel - a decision I would soon regret (although I imagine the scenario in which our roles were reversed would have provided me with equal amounts of stress.) There was much hullabaloo as my Mom attempted to get used to the curious Irish rules of the road ("Yes, for the tenth time you have to drive on the LEFT!") and complained about the "stupid" and numerous roundabouts - confusing, sure, coming at it from the opposite side, but the whole rotary concept should be fairly familiar to a woman who has lived all her life in Massachusetts, no?

We made our way down to Baltimore in West Cork, on the tip of one of several peninsulas in the southwest. Despite having talked about stopping for a rest and refreshment for the entire 4-hour drive, we kept plugging along, near-delirious with hunger and exhaustion (felt like we were driving at 3AM according to our GMT-5 internal clocks), finally stopping in Skibbereen for a bite (tuna fish with sweet corn sandwich - works very well actually) at Field's Coffee Shop. We then stopped in at the attached supermarket for a few minor provisions to bring to the house. Soon after we would finally reach our lovely spot at One Harbor Drive, Baltimore.


Baltimore, West Cork, The Republic of Ireland 07/06/08

There is a preponderance of hatchbacks in Ireland. Or at least traveling from Shannon Airport down through Limerick, Cork, Clonakilty, etc. We surmised that many of them had to be tourists with rentals just like us because of a few reasons:

1. Always iffy about where they were headed.
2. Generally traveling in the slow lane at "molasses in January" speed.
3. Often sported the arcane "L" sticker on the rear windshield. I still do not understand what this stands for ("foreigner" in Irish perhaps? "rube"?) or how one acquires (or is forced to display) it, but it evidently marks tourists as such, warning native Irish drivers, "Ah let's have a look here...aye this one's another feckin' tourist. Doesn't know the left side of the road from a bleddy peat bog so please refrain from giving him a hard time when he weaves about, comes to a dead stop in the middle of the roundabout, or comes flying straight at you at 100km/h down the wrong side on one of our quaint country roads without any directional signage or traffic markings that's tighter than a fish's arsehole."

My Mom liked these "L"-marked cars because they traveled at a relaxed pace and could help shield us a bit from blatant traffic gaffes. After various incidents of the sort described above, Mom said that we should try to find an "L" sticker for our car. I remarked that yes, we should slap a few on: one on every window perhaps?

She actually got a kick out of that one. Could've gone either
way there.

Made it to Baltimore without further ado and after some wine, cheese, and crackers, called it an early first evening, happy to have made it alive.

Day 1: International Departures

The following is the first in a series of entries from my travel journal chronicling my recent trip to Europe. Aside from some minor edits, these represent my thoughts and observations over the course of the trip. You can click here for the archived entries.

Day 2

Logan International Airport - Boston, MA, USA 06/06/08

I arrived at Logan about two and 1/2 hrs. before my flight was scheduled to depart. I had checked in online, and was able to speed through not only the bag drop but customs as well. It was wonderful - the whole process took about ten minutes. Faster than some of the domestic flights I have taken! Granted, there was hardly any line, but still appreciated. I had expected a bit of a circus. Of course the flip side of this is that I had about two hours to kill before departure. Met Mom at the gate shortly after. Inhaled some Sbarro's and she pointed out that our aircraft is named "St. Padraig."
Bodes well!

BOS-SNN-COR-DUB-BUD-LTN-STN-SNN-BOS

I'm boarding an Aer Lingus flight to the Old Country at 7:00 this evening. I anticipate my internet access will be intermittent at best overseas - at any rate I doubt I will have much time or inclination to check in here while abroad. But you'll get a full recap once I get back, have no fear.

I will leave you with the lyrics to "The Parting Glass," a classic Irish
folk song.

Of all the money e'er I had, I spent it in good company;
And all the harm I've ever done, alas was done to none but me;
And all I've done for want of wit, to memory now I can't recall,
So fill me to the parting glass, goodnight and joy be with you all.

Of all the comrades e'er I had, they're sorry for my going away,
And all the sweethearts e'er I had , they wish me one more day
to stay,
But since it falls unto my lot that I should go and you should not,
I'll gently rise and softly call, goodnight and joy be with you all.

If I had money enough to spend and leisure time to sit awhile,
There is a fair maid in this town who sorely has my heart beguiled.
Her rosy cheeks and ruby lips, I own she has my heart in thrall,
So fill me to the parting glass, goodnight and joy be with you all.

Goodnight and joy be with you all!

Slainte,
MRhé

To Get You In the Mood

And by "you" I mean "me."

The Old Country

Tickets are purchased and I have my renewed passport in hand.

I'm traveling to Ireland, Hungary, and England from June 6-22 (wow that looks really cool to type!) This has been in the works for some time. An aunt, uncle, and cousin are staying in a house in Baltimore, West Cork. It's a small village on the tip of one of the southwestern peninsulas. This is actually the same place to which another aunt took me and another cousin way back in 1991 to take sailing lessons. Baltimore is a quaint, quintessentially "Irish" experience and I very much look forward to going back. I'm able to go thanks to my very generous aunt, who is treating me to airfare and room/board. My Mom decided to go as well, so I am flying over with her.

Once over there we will be staying in the same house for the first week (6/7-13). Baltimore will be our base of operations and we will explore from there. Day car trips but nothing more - better to see "more of less" with limited time. And frankly I think there's no better way to experience a foreign country than simply hanging out with the locals.

With Porkins in Cambridge, England right now I decided to extend my trip for a week and go over to visit him since taking the extra time was no problem and it's just a puddle jump to England. As I was planning the trip, Rigs mentioned that one of his friends from Oxford is getting married in Budapest, Hungary on Saturday, 6/14. Jek asked me if I wanted to accompany him as his platonic date and I said, "Sure, when will I next have the opportunity to visit Budapest?" (Which I hear is fantastic.) So I'm flying from Dublin-Budapest on Friday 6/13. Jeff and I will likely do an extra day or two in Buda to check it out, then it's Budapest-London and I will spend the remainder of that week exploring JCB's haunts (Cambridge, Oxford, London). Foonyor also has his thesis defense at the end of the week so I plan on heckling him during that. [For those of you confused by this, Porkins, Rigs, JCB, Jek, Jeff and Foonyor are all the same person. And yes, I did that on purpose.]

I'm extremely psyched for this trip. I can't believe it's next week! I haven't been out of the country in years.

The Old Country awaits.