An
additional note related to yesterday’s visit to Blarney Castle. On my way back
from having visited the same, I stopped at an outdoor vendor, (as I mentioned
previously), purchased a sandwich, and stood in a light and cold sprinkle while
I devoured my lunch. Suddenly, a couple of ravens appeared and landed a few
feet from me. As I began throwing them bits of bread, several more joined the
party. By now ten or twelve of the little critters flapped at my feet. At times
they snatched the bread out of midair.
Another
facet of yesterday’s daily pilgrimage which I neglected to mention was our stop
at Carrauntoohil. At 3406 feet it is Ireland’s tallest mountain. We could see
it across a fiord in the distance, and clouds slithered down its side; very
much like the effect we once witnessed in San Francisco. Our tour bus made a
stop here for a group photo. As we continued to make our way through the County
Kerry, the amazing vista of the mountain and fiord were visible at various
points along our route. This was one of the most amazingly beautiful places I
have ever visited in spite of the fifty degree temperatures, and ongoing rain
with which we contended. The grass is greener here than virtually anywhere on
earth due to the terrific amount of rain which falls on an annual basis.
Our travel
guide is a lovely blonde haired Irish lady of perhaps forty named Deanne. She
was raised in Australia, but her roots are Irish and she admittedly possesses a
somewhat muddled accent, though I believe she sounds Australian. Deanne is
extremely cheerful, and she takes pains to describe everything we will be up to
on a given day as we find our way down the road. Our seat assignments change
daily to facilitate meeting one another, an equal opportunity to view our
environment, and to take photos.
Today we
drove what is referred to as The Ring of Kerry. This is a loop along the coast
of Killarney and up the west coast of Ireland. As we drove, Deanne mentioned a
local drink, and encouraged us to “go get yourselves a Galway Hooker.” Of
course, everyone got a good laugh out of her remark. We navigated the road
along Dingle Bay, and our guide spoke about a local dolphin named, “Fungie”
which has performed colorful antics in the bay for three decades, and has
displayed an affinity for the most vulnerable of children, as they swim. There
are videos of the creature flipping and flopping behind fishing and tour boats,
and it is something to behold. A statue of the dolphin has been erected nearby.
Each year a
town named Killorglin hosts a “Puck Fair” in which a designated goat is
celebrated as king for three days; which commemorates a goat which is said to
have warned the local populace of the advance of Oliver Cromwell’s soldiers,
and allowed them to escape.
Now, we
passed through an area covered in peat bogs, and a chunk of the stuff was
passed through the bus. It almost had the texture and color of coal, and indeed
is a preliminary form of this mineral.
In Watertown
we stopped along Dingle Bay, and later at a fiord created by glaciers. There
was one stop, in particular, which I found to be just about the prettiest spot
in my memory. We looked down on a lush, green valley which boasts a river down
its middle, houses in the mid ground, and a range of green hills in the
background. We stopped for lunch at a restaurant which featured Shepherd’s Pie.
The tableside view of Dingle Bay was nothing less than magnificent. I could
make out a couple of small boats in the distance.
As we neared
our hotel in Killarney, our guide pointed out a couple of famine houses; the
stone ruins of which remained from the mid-19th century. Strangely
enough, the narrow mountain road is marked 100 KPH, (just over 60 miles per
hour), an impossible speed here. We finally arrived back at our hotel, and
prepared for a horse cart ride. The cart seated eight, including our driver,
John Cronin. His draft horse is named “Polly.” We drove through a national park
in Killarney which is limited to foot travel, bicycle and horse cart traffic.
The Irish driver was extremely animated, and joked throughout our ride. He is
the brother of fourteen siblings. I joked that his parents must not have owned
a television. He responded with, “And they didn’t have a heater either which
just made it more fun for them!” When I asked if Irish people understand
American accents better than we understand them, he said he thought they did,
and “I can’t even understand some Irish folks when they talk!”
As we
continued down the picturesque road, we saw a broken down 15th
century castle which was situated on an island on a lake. Other than the cold
conditions which permeated our bones, it was a pleasant ride, indeed.
Afterwards,
my daughter, Kristy and I visited a local restaurant and ran into an elderly
American couple situated at a table next to us. Lo and behold they were from
Davenport, Florida; just thirty miles from our hometown of Winter Haven.
by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending
No comments:
Post a Comment