(Day 8)
Today we
journeyed to The Giant’s Causeway. It proved to be quite a walk down to the
rocks, but it was well worth the effort. There were two major mounds of
geometric shaped rocks there. I climbed each and Jean took my photo on each.
Later, we drove through Bushnell; the site of a whisky distillery; the oldest
in Northern Ireland. Our tour guide walked down the aisle and poured whisky in
plastic cups. "N", one of our 16 grand and great grandchildren, sipped a tiny
bit of the “liquid gold,” and summarily “had a fit;” coughing and sputtering
like a mad man. I declined the liquid refreshment.
We
eventually arrived in Belfast, and enjoyed lunch at a local Subway sandwich
shop. Oddly enough, they hadn’t the foggiest about any such thing as a Subway
Club sandwich which is a staple in America.
From here,
we drove to the Titanic Museum, and launch site. It seems 100,000 men, woman
and children watched as the most infamous of all ships slipped into its
eventual gravesite. Not only the ship, but every one of those tenth of a
million souls have passed from this life now. As a footnote, I was surprised
that there were no relics of the ship in the museum; as many artifacts have
been brought up from its resting place, four miles deep in the cold Atlantic.
I was given
the opportunity to sing, “Danny Boy” this morning, and felt it went well
enough, though I strained on that one high note, and strained badly. (The song
was never meant for a baritone). At any rate, I received sufficient applause,
and I was gratified for it.
Our hotel is
directly across from the parliament building of Northern Ireland, and we have a
view of the entrance thereof from our room. This afternoon some of our group
went into the city, and were conducted by an Irishman. We ended up at a pub,
and while the remainder of our people drank, I stood in the doorway of an
alleyway, and listened to one of the citizens sing and accompany himself on a
guitar. The man’s voice was a smooth as silk. Such a singer.
(Later, one
of our men told me I should have taken the guitar away from the fella, and sang
a few songs of my own. I told him that my listeners would immediately realize I
wasn’t a true Irishman and would send me packing back to the states).
There were
multiplied hundreds of poor, demented young people drinking themselves into
oblivion in the vicinity of where I stood, and I recall saying a prayer for
them. (More than once I told my wife that the tour was a little too heavily
focused on the grain and the grape).
After our
group members finally stepped out of the pub, we drove over to a fish and chips
place. I was much more impressed with the hospitality of the staff, than the
fish and chips.
Upon
returning to the hotel, I walked down to the Northern Ireland Parliament, and
snapped some photos of the place. It was literally a mile from the street
entrance to the building, so it was quite a walk.
One of our
group is a D. MacDonald from Australia. As McDonald and MacDonald are one
and the same surname, she and I may be very distantly related. I referred to
her as “cuz” a few times in passing. I “hit it off” with another group member
named, Bob. He told me that I was the greatest surprise of the entire trip; (as
he evidently thought of me as quiet, withdrawn and somber; which I am prone to
be, at times).
by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright Pending
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