Caroline's Garden and Travel Record

Today we booked a tour of Rathlin Island, accessible via the 8:00 ferry from Ballycastle harbor, about half an hour away.  We accordingly rose at 5:30 and were on the road by 7:11.  There was almost no traffic, and we scooted along little roads that hugged the coast.

The ferry ride was a bit rough at the start, but once we stopped bouncing around it was fine.  Along with us were a couple Rescue guys and a couple people with laptops.  At least one student got off in Ballycastle, since the only school on the island is a primary.

Here’s a picture of the mainland from the island.

Julie, our guide, met us at the dock, along with her darling little dog Nipper, whom I wish I had photographed.  She led us on the meandering walk around the eastern side of the island.  At its height there were about 1500 people, but it’s now down to about a tenth of that (and yes, everyone knows each other AND knows each other’s business).  During the Famine, a ship took 500 people, all at one time, off to America, where they might never have been heard from again.  I’d love to know more about that story.  Luckily the people on Rathlin could also fish and climb for birds’ eggs, but it was still a hard, hard time.

Julie turned out to be a zookeeper – one of those professions you hardly think can be real any more.  She worked at the Dublin Zoo and worked in Canada when they exchanged zookeepers for six months.  She also worked on wildlife conservation in China and taught English in Belgium for ten years.  She’s been on the island since 2010.  Her combination of wildlife knowledge and island knowledge made her a perfect guide.

On our meander we saw gray seals basking by the shore, along with five or six other heads in the water.  She told us they were curious creatures, and the heads did seem to follow us as we walked along.  We marveled at gannets who plunged straight down to catch fish, and hooded crows that are common as dirt here but new to us.  Starlings, swallows (their real name will come to me), cormorants, and eider ducks were all over the harbor, too.

We stopped to see a standing stone ( think it was in this churchyard) and to visit two churches, a Catholic one with stained glass, and a Protestant one with many plaques in memory of the Gages, once lords of the manor here.  Only the latter church has a graveyard, leading people to joke that only on Rathlin can you start life as a Catholic and end as a Protestant.  Several graves were of people lost at sea, back during the 19th century, during WWI and more recently, too.  Many of those seemed to have happened during January – be careful out there!  And of course, since this is the UK, an odd little sign.

A restored stone wall, an abandoned kelp house that is about to be turned into an art gallery or a science lab, several sightings of the visiting nurse visiting elderly patients (Julie knew who lived at each house), and a short climb to great views rounded out our walk.

After a cup of tea Julie gave us a ride most of the way up to the RSPB seabird centre at the other end of the island.  We said goodbye and walked the last 15 minutes of the road to the centre (their spelling). Along the way we saw heather, gorse, sweet grass (that’s not it), wild poppies and fuchsias, steep road, cows and sheep grazing by the sea.  

We were about two weeks too late to see puffins, and about five days too late to see the fulmar chicks launching themselves into the air.  The only thing left was to climb down the 100 or so steep steps to the observation area.  Lord, the wind was blowing hard!  I clutched the railing with both hands and tried to look down at the next step rather than out into space.

Luckily, the Puffin bus did arrive (it had been in doubt), so we did not have to walk the 4 1/2 miles back.  On the other hand, the driver started the bus, parked it at the fence overlooking the steep cliff, and then climbed out to seek a missing passenger.  “It’s ridiculous to leave a bus running at the edge of a cliff,” one of us was heard to say.

The ride back was steep with one near miss (“I’ve opened my eyes now,” the driver joked,) and left us off by the pub.  Here I had the biggest and most delicious piece of fried fish and chips I’ve ever eaten.

We are planning to take the 4:15 ferry home so it’s time to say goodbye to the pub’s good wifi and pack up for the afternoon.

We arrived in Trim after the usual knuckle-biting drive on the left.  Actually, driving on the left is hardly a problem – give me the M1 any day!  It’s the decision-making when you come to a roundabout or try to make a right turn against oncoming traffic, which is unaccountably coming from the wrong direction, that gives me the willies.  Luckily, I have a good navigator.

At any rate, we found our way from the Dublin airport northwest to the Hill of Tara, a World Heritage Site and seat of Irish power from ancient times.  The landscape is gently rolling, so even a slight incline like that at Tara gives a great view.  We started out at an old church that is now the visitors’ center.  The quite lovely stained glass window (1932 in honor of the 1500th anniversary of St. Patrick’s arrival) is covered by a gently lowered screen, and visitors are treated to a pleasant film introduction to the ancient site.

We followed our guide through the churchyard with its fertility stone (imagine her feet above her ears, the guide explained succinctly) to a green hill with two stones at the top.  One is the Stone of Tara and, if I understood her right, a bit of it is in Scotland as the Stone of Scoone, which the Scots claim as the real one.  Of course, they are wrong (if you are discussing this in Ireland).  This is where kings and queens were crowned for years.  To determine if you were the rightful heir to the throne, you either scraped your carriage wheels along the stone or placed your foot on it.  If you were the right one, the stone would speak and all would acknowledge your power.

Also on site is a stone commemorating the 1798 revolution, which lasted six months and ended in failure, as usual.  This is the one where the Irish joined forces with Napoleon, or at least tried to.  Napoleon and the Vikings appear everywhere on the islands.

We stopped at the burial mound, a replica of which we had seen at the Museum of Archaeology in Dublin.  This is a passage tomb, where cremated remains were buried.  The tomb itself is low and short, with the mound above built of earth and stone.

The other features of the site are a stone cross protected by a railing, and the outlines of other burial mounds nearby.  Archaeological work is ongoing.

Back down the hill to the tearoom and bookshop for lunch and a quick browse. I was very happy to find a copy of T.H. White’s The Goshawk, described and maligned in Helen MacDonald’s wonderful book.  This was a real used bookshop with an eclectic mix including a volume on how to do laundry, numerous gardening books both coffee-table and early twentieth century ones in black and white, and a selection of Irish literature, folklore and history.

Getting to Trim involved asking directions several times. We are gradually learning that when someone in Ireland tells you it’s “just around the corner” or “at the top of the hill,” it could be miles and miles away.  Then, when we were within spitting distance of our destination, we were foiled by a cycle race that blocked the road.  We found a little spot to wait it out, and finally we could park the car and heave a sigh of relief.

The Highfield House B&B was just the ticket for an overnight visit:  spacious, comfortable, good breakfast and one of the best bathrooms on the trip.

It’s set on top of a hill with great views of the River Boyne (complete with grazing donkeys) and the ruins of Trim Castle.  We walked over to the castle in a desultory way and were almost relieved that tours of the Keep were fully booked.  Seeing this sign made us both think it was time to watch Braveheart again and enjoy the castle on DVD instead.We had a wander around the grounds and made our way back.  Dinner tonight was at a very jolly restaurant that specialized in steaks.  It was plastered with plaques of the corniest variety (To be is to do, to do is to be, doobie doobie do, etc.) and filled with lots of locals.  And so to bed.

Well, yesterday we went to museums, too, but today was all about just two more, the National Galleries of Art and of Archaeology and History.  We walked at a leisurely pace down to the first one and went through their somewhat truncated collection.  (Note that the centeeenary, as they say, of the 1916 Uprising is next year, so everything is being renovated in preparation.)

One of us is chasing Vermeer, so that was the prime focus, but we also enjoyed visiting old friends like the Dutch painter Averkamp with his cheerful winter skating scenes, and a bit of Fra Angelico and Caravaggio. An annunciation is always good, too.  A Scottish portrait by Raeburn of a middle-aged couple was particularly pleasing (see also the skating minister painting in Edinburgh).  We had to see the Jack Yeats paintings, too, in honor of his brother.

Since we were there we went into the Sean Scully exhibit although neither of us had ever heard of him and knew not a thing about him.  He proved to be a treat:  Color Field paintings (though he calls it Wall of Light) that reminded me of quilts, and stark black and white photos of stone walls on the Isle of Aran.  He’s an Irish-born painter who seems to be living mostly in London and New York these days.  Good enough that I had to buy the book.

From here we walked to Merrion Square, home of Wilde, Yeats and others, but we ignored the blue plaques on the houses and made straight for the Oscar Wilde statue installed in the park in 1997.  Having paid homage, we walked on in search of lunch, enjoying a few Georgian doorways along the way.

O’Donoghue’s, where we had lunch, was filled with men drinking beer and watching a soccer game.  I think this was just a warmup for the Hurling World Cup game to be played against Wales later in the afternoon.  We each had a glass of beer, half-watching (and not understanding) the game as we ate our ham-and-cheese toasties and enjoyed the (smoke-free) atmosphere of a local pub.

Thus fortified, we walked (boy, have we been walking) to the Museum of Art & Archaeology.  Weary but game, we hit the highlights, starting with the bog people.  I really love the bog people, I guess because they are so real and so informative about ancient times. The latest find was from 2003, when a peat digger found yet another body cut in half by the digging machine.   They are still able to find out all kinds of fascinating details about these people, of course. One had a very special hairdo, short on the sides and with his longer hair tied in a topknot.

Golden lunulae and torcs, intricately filigreed brooches and crosses, and finally a newly discovered manuscript as old as the Book of Kells.  Again, found by a turfcutter and discovered to date from around 800.  Not heavily decorated like the BOK but amazing for what it explains about medieval bookmaking.  The best thing is that the turfcutter immediately knew it was important and the landowners called the museum right away, because that’s what you do in the UK and Ireland!

Totally exhausted by now, we dragged ourselves home via Grafton Street and the closed Bewley Oriental Cafe where I had hoped to see the stained glass windows.  Next year…  Then home for a toes-up, sorting and packing, and getting ready to tackle left-hand driving tomorrow.

Today was all about history, and by the end of it we were able to hold most of it in our minds.  But first we walked down to the end of the street to Trinity College and the Book of Kells.  (This is history, too, of course, but very different from the rest.)

Before you see the Book, you go through a very informative display about the history and making, including a hypnotic little video showing someone very slowly sharpening a pen, dipping it in ink and scratching out a few lines.  Then you enter a darkened room where two quartos are open and you can view two pages close up.  A very helpful guide pointed out a couple things we might have missed:   each page was finished with an egg white wash that gives it a nice sheen, and one of the vellum pages had been flayed too hard and developed a hole.  The monks had cleverly painted a design on the following page that shows through and makes the hole less noticeable.  I always like an enthusiastic person who wants to share the information.

From here we walked up the stairs to the Old Library, which is one of the great libraries I’ve seen.  Dark, dark wood, lots of book ladders, books crammed onto the shelves, high ceiling – well, just take a look.

An additional treat was an exhibit of children’s books based on mythology. Everything from Harry Potter to Alan Garner and Susan Cooper was on display, a visit with some of my old friends.

Though viewing the actual book is jokingly referred to as the biggest anitclimax in Dublin, it was worth a visit.  Here is AO looking happy after viewing the BOK.

The latest trip – Dublin and Northern Ireland – started with the usual efficient flight but without much sleep.  Note to self:  next time, try Peggy’s tip of traveling during the day so you don’t have to try to sleep in a noisy, cramped metal box.

We arrived to sunshine and beautiful clouds, bussed into the city and checked into the Harding Hotel, perfectly situated across from Christchurch Cathedral.

The cathedral was beautifully sihouetted against a gray sky.

Outside was a very moving sculpture that would be right at home in front of the library.

Inside was notable to me mostly for the floor tiles.  A major Victorian renovation meant that most of what we saw was nineteenth century, incuding the tiles, but they were based on medieval tiles still extant in one of the small chapels.  As always, it made me think of quilts.

There was also some beautiful Victorian embroidery on the altar cloth.

In the crypt were the lovingly preserved bodies of a cat and a rat found mummified below the floors and mentioned by Joyce in Finnegan’s Wake.  One of the church’s best things, I think.

Even after a nap, we were still zonked, so after a delicious dinner in the Copper Alley Bistro downstairs, we had an early bed.