Greetings,
I arrived home safe and sound, albeit exhausted and exhilarated at the end of July. Being gone meant I had no idea how quickly the family calendar filled up with 'stuff' to do. About a half day off to rest up then appointments and soccer tournaments...and of course, the annual family remote camping vacation with no cell or computer service. This is the first year that our electronic-free trip wasn't so appealing. :-)
I've viewed all my photographs again, added to another journal - and still there is much swirling in my head about my learning adventure. I'm wrapping up some initial paperwork for the Fund for Teacher's requirements, and look forward to September when I get to meet all those who made this journey possible.
And, this week I began adding exciting new lesson elements to my teaching and enhancing many more, from my new learning and the fresh perspective I'm experiencing. School starts in just two weeks - oh, yeah!
Thanks to Amy, Jen, Kerry, Judy, Maeve, Kelly, and other travel buddies who added to my fun. Thanks to Olcan, Connie, Dotty, Aggie, Maureen, Sue, Jeannie, Joan, and Shari for sharing our visitor experience. I will always think of my photo group when I think of Ireland. And, thanks to all the others who wrote comments, e-mails and provided some 'home' support. It felt great to travel independently and yet never really feel alone.
Slainte...for a final time!
Lori :-)
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Homeward bound...
Good morning!
Within a few hours, I'll be over the green fields of Ireland then the Atlantic Ocean heading toward home. While I will miss some of the people I've met, I will carry so much with me to keep me connected to this very special place and these incredible people.
Once home and settled, I'll will post a final entry and upload the many photos you all have missed.
As the Irish say farewell "Safe home" until next time...
Lori :-)
PS - The soccer match was less exciting than a high school match in Maine, with a final score of 0-0. Seems all the die-hard sports fans took the train to the big hurling game with Cork City. Figures... :-)
Within a few hours, I'll be over the green fields of Ireland then the Atlantic Ocean heading toward home. While I will miss some of the people I've met, I will carry so much with me to keep me connected to this very special place and these incredible people.
Once home and settled, I'll will post a final entry and upload the many photos you all have missed.
As the Irish say farewell "Safe home" until next time...
Lori :-)
PS - The soccer match was less exciting than a high school match in Maine, with a final score of 0-0. Seems all the die-hard sports fans took the train to the big hurling game with Cork City. Figures... :-)
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Not my typical weekend...
Cead Mile Failte!
Decided to explore the offerings surrounding the Fota train station, and I was not disappointed on Friday. After a bit of a walk, I was rewarded with the Fota House and Gardens. This property boasts 27 hectares/11 acres of absolutely stunning trees and plants from around the world. I spent more than two hours in one area, and only after a wrong turn did I truly find the jewels of this place. Magnolia trees as a backdrop with high stone walls and low shrubs acted as fencing for the eight feet deep rows of varied colorful flowers. They have a Victorian fernery, a 'to die for' Italian garden complete with lily pond, statues and gazebo. They have a special 'pleasure garden' filled with wonderfully scented flowers, and the largest rose garden I have ever seen. (Larger than a soccer field)
It had the welcoming feel of a public park treasured by many, like the dozens of toddlers and their moms having a lovely time picnicking and chatting. Watching, I saw that children are the same most everywhere. There was the one who wanted to play 'mom, dad, baby and honey'. Another tossing pebbles in the air, looking up to see how high they went when, of course, one fell back and bounced off her tiny nose. And my favorite, the one shaking the rose stem to get the prettiest petals to fall off. Her mom had to re-explain that she could only collect those that fell off by themselves and were already on the ground. Naturally, those weren't as pretty - and then came the tears when the realization hit that she was hurting the pretty flowers.
It is not surprising at the number of bridal parties that want their wedding photos taken in the gardens. It can be requested at no charge, but some rules do apply. :-)
Saturday, with so many arriving tourists about, was tough to find a bus for a day trip so I simply hung around town people watching, reading, and writing a bit. Even spoke to many of my extended family who were celebrating a reunion, with me in their thoughts and mine on them.
Sunday morning, while the night owls slept, I caught an early bus to Kinsale. A small village at the tip of a peninsula. It seems a combination of one part working waterfront, one part upscale tourist hub for those with yachts, and one part quaint homey feel village.
In a popular locals restaurant, Vista, I had a delicious breakfast of soft scrambled eggs on toasted brioche bread with smoked salmon and chives nude. I believe it was the toast that was nude. Well worth the wait!
Just prior, I discovered a unique artists gallery displaying and selling hand-fused glass pieces and jewelry. It is a sort of co-op for seven local Irish artisans. As a token of this trip, I purchased an absolutely stunning carafe with gold-fused design of leaves and a dragonfly on the topper. I am quite hopeful I can get it home as lovely as it is now, as I know exactly where it will be displayed. Upside of a small home is that it forces one to always consider this detail prior to a purchase. :-)
As this trips winds down...Slainte!
PS - Looking forward to the big soccer game this evening between Cork City and St. Patricks'
Decided to explore the offerings surrounding the Fota train station, and I was not disappointed on Friday. After a bit of a walk, I was rewarded with the Fota House and Gardens. This property boasts 27 hectares/11 acres of absolutely stunning trees and plants from around the world. I spent more than two hours in one area, and only after a wrong turn did I truly find the jewels of this place. Magnolia trees as a backdrop with high stone walls and low shrubs acted as fencing for the eight feet deep rows of varied colorful flowers. They have a Victorian fernery, a 'to die for' Italian garden complete with lily pond, statues and gazebo. They have a special 'pleasure garden' filled with wonderfully scented flowers, and the largest rose garden I have ever seen. (Larger than a soccer field)
It had the welcoming feel of a public park treasured by many, like the dozens of toddlers and their moms having a lovely time picnicking and chatting. Watching, I saw that children are the same most everywhere. There was the one who wanted to play 'mom, dad, baby and honey'. Another tossing pebbles in the air, looking up to see how high they went when, of course, one fell back and bounced off her tiny nose. And my favorite, the one shaking the rose stem to get the prettiest petals to fall off. Her mom had to re-explain that she could only collect those that fell off by themselves and were already on the ground. Naturally, those weren't as pretty - and then came the tears when the realization hit that she was hurting the pretty flowers.
It is not surprising at the number of bridal parties that want their wedding photos taken in the gardens. It can be requested at no charge, but some rules do apply. :-)
Saturday, with so many arriving tourists about, was tough to find a bus for a day trip so I simply hung around town people watching, reading, and writing a bit. Even spoke to many of my extended family who were celebrating a reunion, with me in their thoughts and mine on them.
Sunday morning, while the night owls slept, I caught an early bus to Kinsale. A small village at the tip of a peninsula. It seems a combination of one part working waterfront, one part upscale tourist hub for those with yachts, and one part quaint homey feel village.
In a popular locals restaurant, Vista, I had a delicious breakfast of soft scrambled eggs on toasted brioche bread with smoked salmon and chives nude. I believe it was the toast that was nude. Well worth the wait!
Just prior, I discovered a unique artists gallery displaying and selling hand-fused glass pieces and jewelry. It is a sort of co-op for seven local Irish artisans. As a token of this trip, I purchased an absolutely stunning carafe with gold-fused design of leaves and a dragonfly on the topper. I am quite hopeful I can get it home as lovely as it is now, as I know exactly where it will be displayed. Upside of a small home is that it forces one to always consider this detail prior to a purchase. :-)
As this trips winds down...Slainte!
PS - Looking forward to the big soccer game this evening between Cork City and St. Patricks'
Friday, July 25, 2008
County Cork
Greetings, again!
My last photo, taken from a moving bus on Wednesday, of Dingle Town was of Ballintaggert Hostel. It is a huge brick old-style manor house used by the Protestants during the famine. They served as a soup kitchen for those hungry enough to renounce their Catholic religion - for some, it even meant changing their family name.
Passed a lovely "luxury accomodations" castle somewhere between Dingle and Cork that would be the dream of my daughter, I'm sure. Probably Maggie, too!
And, I landed in County Cork on Wednesday. A day trip to Cork city was nice - a mini Dublin with nowhere near the chaos. Though they do take their shopping very serious here. It seemed the city is in a growth spurt, with sky cranes and construction going on all around. I spent as much time looking up to see what might be hovering over me as I did looking forward. It, too, is a river city - the River Lee divides it in half. Bridges, bridges everywhere - always one to cross.
Sadly, there was an accident involving a pedestrian and I found it fascinating how they used 6-7 motorcycle Garda to escort the ambulance and ride ahead to stop traffic.
Cobh, a small town with a huge history, was a great day trip on Thursday. Cobh, pronounced Cove and formerly known as Queenstown, was the last Irish soil for half of the 6 million who emigrated to the US, Canada, and Australia since 1815. It was a major port city in the 19th century, and today still has a strong working harbor. Emigrated is putting it nicely, since many bound for Australia were convicts sent away as punishment.
First, I wandered up, way up, the hills in search of the building housing very soothing bells that seemed to chime every half hour or so. I found that they were the Carillon of 49 bells housed in St. Carillon Cathedral. This incredibly beautiful (architecturally) cathedral was planned over a ten year period, not long after the Great Famine. Construction lasted another ten years.
Of course, having walked so high, I was rewarded with some spectacular views of the harbor, backsides of the townhouses (not at all colorful like the fronts) and rooftops and porches of those who live there. My favorite photo is of plants and weeds growing up from eight clay pots. Actually, they were the clay stacks of the chimney liners. Priceless, really.
I had planned to upload photos today, but this internet place had a complete network virus issue and I don't want to risk losing all my irreplaceable photos, so I'll just have to wait a bit longer.
I had a delicious picnic lunch in Kennedy Park, while thoroughly enjoying a live performance by some European exchange students learning traditional Irish music, and then the Gruppo Follorico "La Pistacoppi" playing and dancing traditional Italian music with a storyline base. Dressed in vibrant, stylish printed vests and frocks, high socks and kerchief hats, with hand-decorated instruments they laughed and sang and shared. It was a colorful wonder that attracted many into the park to stop and simply enjoy.
Cobh was also the last port of call for the fated maiden voyage of the Titanic, and was the port that many survivors of the Lusitania reached after being plucked from the waters, and welcomed the USS Jamestown in 1847 to receive food donated by the people of Boston, USA for the famine-stricken people of Munster (Ireland).
Ireland experienced a 'chain-migration' where many emigrants were assisted to leave by family or friends who had already left and sent back money. Between 1848 and 1900, over £46,000 (today's value of $234,000,000) was sent to Ireland as remittances from emigrants in North America. One of those families belonged to Annie Moore. Both her parents and older brothers left for America first and sent back money so she could bring her younger brothers over. She left Cobh in 1891 and she was the first person to be admitted to the USA through the immigration center at Ellis Island in New York. For this, she was presented with a $10 gold piece.
Until next time...Slainte!
My last photo, taken from a moving bus on Wednesday, of Dingle Town was of Ballintaggert Hostel. It is a huge brick old-style manor house used by the Protestants during the famine. They served as a soup kitchen for those hungry enough to renounce their Catholic religion - for some, it even meant changing their family name.
Passed a lovely "luxury accomodations" castle somewhere between Dingle and Cork that would be the dream of my daughter, I'm sure. Probably Maggie, too!
And, I landed in County Cork on Wednesday. A day trip to Cork city was nice - a mini Dublin with nowhere near the chaos. Though they do take their shopping very serious here. It seemed the city is in a growth spurt, with sky cranes and construction going on all around. I spent as much time looking up to see what might be hovering over me as I did looking forward. It, too, is a river city - the River Lee divides it in half. Bridges, bridges everywhere - always one to cross.
Sadly, there was an accident involving a pedestrian and I found it fascinating how they used 6-7 motorcycle Garda to escort the ambulance and ride ahead to stop traffic.
Cobh, a small town with a huge history, was a great day trip on Thursday. Cobh, pronounced Cove and formerly known as Queenstown, was the last Irish soil for half of the 6 million who emigrated to the US, Canada, and Australia since 1815. It was a major port city in the 19th century, and today still has a strong working harbor. Emigrated is putting it nicely, since many bound for Australia were convicts sent away as punishment.
First, I wandered up, way up, the hills in search of the building housing very soothing bells that seemed to chime every half hour or so. I found that they were the Carillon of 49 bells housed in St. Carillon Cathedral. This incredibly beautiful (architecturally) cathedral was planned over a ten year period, not long after the Great Famine. Construction lasted another ten years.
Of course, having walked so high, I was rewarded with some spectacular views of the harbor, backsides of the townhouses (not at all colorful like the fronts) and rooftops and porches of those who live there. My favorite photo is of plants and weeds growing up from eight clay pots. Actually, they were the clay stacks of the chimney liners. Priceless, really.
I had planned to upload photos today, but this internet place had a complete network virus issue and I don't want to risk losing all my irreplaceable photos, so I'll just have to wait a bit longer.
I had a delicious picnic lunch in Kennedy Park, while thoroughly enjoying a live performance by some European exchange students learning traditional Irish music, and then the Gruppo Follorico "La Pistacoppi" playing and dancing traditional Italian music with a storyline base. Dressed in vibrant, stylish printed vests and frocks, high socks and kerchief hats, with hand-decorated instruments they laughed and sang and shared. It was a colorful wonder that attracted many into the park to stop and simply enjoy.
Cobh was also the last port of call for the fated maiden voyage of the Titanic, and was the port that many survivors of the Lusitania reached after being plucked from the waters, and welcomed the USS Jamestown in 1847 to receive food donated by the people of Boston, USA for the famine-stricken people of Munster (Ireland).
Ireland experienced a 'chain-migration' where many emigrants were assisted to leave by family or friends who had already left and sent back money. Between 1848 and 1900, over £46,000 (today's value of $234,000,000) was sent to Ireland as remittances from emigrants in North America. One of those families belonged to Annie Moore. Both her parents and older brothers left for America first and sent back money so she could bring her younger brothers over. She left Cobh in 1891 and she was the first person to be admitted to the USA through the immigration center at Ellis Island in New York. For this, she was presented with a $10 gold piece.
Until next time...Slainte!
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Dingle, anyone?
Hi, all!
It's been a couple of days...but I haven't been slacking. When my photography friends went home I was busy exploring both the Lisdoonvarna and Doolin areas. I was able to take a ferry out to the Cliffs of Moher because I really wanted a more unique photographical perspective. I got that and then some...talk about waves rocking the boat. I was one of the very lucky few who didn't become violently sick...and I was also one of the few whose camera stayed safe and dry even among the waves that soaked me from waist to toes.
From there, I headed south and landed in Dingle town. It was a tourist paradise; since I preferred being a visitor to that of a tourist, I only stayed long enough to take an archeological semi-private tour of Dingle Peninsula with Dennis.
Our first stop was visiting the beautiful estate once owned by Lord Ventry, and there we saw a group of Ogham stones and learn about the earliest form of Celtic writing dating from the 4th century. It was fascinating how this rich and powerful man could simply steal valuable religious stones and place them at the entry to estate. There are other Ogham stones still around the peninsula, and his moving them might have protected them a bit more than if they had remained where they were. He also imported what we refer to as Palm Trees, from New Zealand and they seem to be flourishing all these years later even though Ireland is anything but tropical. Go figure! :-)
Passing the beautiful Ventry beach, we made our way to the site known as ‘Dun Beag’. The Gaelic words, which mean ‘small fort’, refer to a defensive structure dating from approximately 500 BC. It was really interesting how anyone who owned anything of value needed this type of structure to keep others from stealing their property, including their animals. So, the outer ring was used to place the valuables while the inner fort ring served as the home.
We drove on through stunning ocean views till we cross a ford, which crashes down the mountain, and across the road into the sea far below. Locals call it the upside-down bridge because the water crosses over the bridge instead of beneath it. How cool, right?!
Had a spectacular sunny day to see two of the Skellig Islands and the Blasket Islands. I would love to meet the one woman who still resides on the island. Imagine, to be so isolated but content enough with your life that you enjoy your own company. She is a weaver who receives much of her wool from local farmers and she is able to sell her wares and offer small group eco-tours to sustain herself. My new hero!
We finished our tour with a short visit to Gallurus Oratory. Dennis was really great but he wasn't Olcan; I'm guessing no one ever will be.
That's it for now...until I post again, "Slainte!"
It's been a couple of days...but I haven't been slacking. When my photography friends went home I was busy exploring both the Lisdoonvarna and Doolin areas. I was able to take a ferry out to the Cliffs of Moher because I really wanted a more unique photographical perspective. I got that and then some...talk about waves rocking the boat. I was one of the very lucky few who didn't become violently sick...and I was also one of the few whose camera stayed safe and dry even among the waves that soaked me from waist to toes.
From there, I headed south and landed in Dingle town. It was a tourist paradise; since I preferred being a visitor to that of a tourist, I only stayed long enough to take an archeological semi-private tour of Dingle Peninsula with Dennis.
Our first stop was visiting the beautiful estate once owned by Lord Ventry, and there we saw a group of Ogham stones and learn about the earliest form of Celtic writing dating from the 4th century. It was fascinating how this rich and powerful man could simply steal valuable religious stones and place them at the entry to estate. There are other Ogham stones still around the peninsula, and his moving them might have protected them a bit more than if they had remained where they were. He also imported what we refer to as Palm Trees, from New Zealand and they seem to be flourishing all these years later even though Ireland is anything but tropical. Go figure! :-)
Passing the beautiful Ventry beach, we made our way to the site known as ‘Dun Beag’. The Gaelic words, which mean ‘small fort’, refer to a defensive structure dating from approximately 500 BC. It was really interesting how anyone who owned anything of value needed this type of structure to keep others from stealing their property, including their animals. So, the outer ring was used to place the valuables while the inner fort ring served as the home.
We drove on through stunning ocean views till we cross a ford, which crashes down the mountain, and across the road into the sea far below. Locals call it the upside-down bridge because the water crosses over the bridge instead of beneath it. How cool, right?!
Had a spectacular sunny day to see two of the Skellig Islands and the Blasket Islands. I would love to meet the one woman who still resides on the island. Imagine, to be so isolated but content enough with your life that you enjoy your own company. She is a weaver who receives much of her wool from local farmers and she is able to sell her wares and offer small group eco-tours to sustain herself. My new hero!
We finished our tour with a short visit to Gallurus Oratory. Dennis was really great but he wasn't Olcan; I'm guessing no one ever will be.
That's it for now...until I post again, "Slainte!"
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Tuesday to Sunday...
Cead Mile Failte!
Tuesday, we journeyed to Burrishoole Abbey. Near the road's entrance, there is a stone wall creating a closed circle with three huge trees. This is the burial site for famine children who had not been baptized, a large grave site with no markers now on private land. We walked down the abbey road at our own pace -with Connie, Dotty and I sharing a moment with three local cows (I mean cattle). It felt a bit like a stand off to see who would move last. The cattle won. :-)
Burrishoole Abbey was built in 1469. It is on the land's edge where the quay and ocean converge. It is believed that cows will lie down on patches where water runs in the earth beneath them. Farmers not too long ago would carry a slice of bread of something in a pocket in case they suddenly experiences Faire Gortha (Great Hunger). Some believe it is the convergence of water under ground, and I believe it could also be related to where a famine victim collapsed or was placed on the ground by those carrying them when they had to switch sides. It is a sudden strong need for food that can't be appeased by a fruit or sweets (at least it wasn't for me).
On Wednesday, we journeyed to Achill Island exploring another of Granuaille's castles, more famine houses, and cemetery where the sheep have adapted to walking on the rock walls or leaping up onto them to get over them. They seemed much more hesitant to jump down than they did to jump up. One came within the width of a gravesite distance for the grass growing beneath me. Walking back, I met Louisa, an adorable white terrier who posed for me and shared her collar tag that read: "When I grow up, I want to be a Rotweiller."
The afternoon was spent walking Keel Beach, a blue flag beach, where swimmers donned wet suits and took to the frigid waters. One man wore only a brief - we shivered and couldn't watch. As we were leaving, Sue and I met a young couple who had come on their honeymoon from Leichester the first time, and returned now with three small children.
Thursday, we visited the Craggan. The vast bog lands on the way are so different that the sheep won't even graze there. That is indeed a sign, as the animals here seem pretty smart. We enjoyed a late lunch at Neville's Pub. I had my first of Irish beef, and it was so tasty. I could really taste the freshness.
My favorite day was Friday, when we took the ferry to Clare Island. We were transported up the three miles to the lighthouse. Carefully, on hands and knees, I crawled to the edge and photographed downward. I was so high up that it was disorienting at first - and then I realized just how high up I was: 350 feet to the rocky shoreline below me. Crawling backward and walking up steeper, I looked back to find that the overhang we had been on was solid, yet eroded in spots. The winds there made it impossible (or foolhardy) to walk up to the edge. What a rush, and more scary after - when I realized just how high up it was. We meandered in the sporadic mist and drizzle (no fogging up the lens necessary), the three miles back downward toward the dock - stopping along the way to visit with a weaver in her shop, shared crackers with a knitter, and enjoyed our packed lunch in the cozy cottage of Shari & Olcan.
The island is not really a tourist destination for most, instead, it is a working village where its residents rely on good old fashioned hard work and ingenuity to get by. The local school serves 21+ children, and secondary students must live in the mainland homes of other family during the week and only go home on weekends and holidays.
My last day with my photography group and photo caddy, Saturday, we stopped in Kinvarra, a small fishing village with a castle. We were given the challenge to only take 10 photographs. At first, it was tough, but with a bit of focus I found I was better at capturing better, more meaningful images. Thanks, Connie!
We lunched in Ballyvaughan, where thatch cottages are more common and for rent, and walked about making our way back to a meeting spot. Along the way, we had the great fortune to stumble upon a painting landscape competition with artists who were very willing (the two I spoke with) to share their work and their thoughts. Our final time was spent in and around The Burren. It is so beautiful, and so barren at the same time that it is amazing how much life it sustains. It is much like a granite dessert. We not only saw a variety of wild flowers, but also wild donkeys and farm cattle. At one time, farmers were asked to reduce the size of their herd by half (paid to do it) because the thoughts were that the cattle grazing was harming the wild flowers and such. Recently, botanists who've studied the impact agreed that the reduction was actually harming the landscape because of the reduced manure.
After hugs and wished for a safe journey, I parted from my photography group yesterday and had my first late dinner with no soup. I couldn't bear to not have Olcan serve Maureen's...it was the best! Instead I had Irish stew (poor lamb) was so yummy and filling - and the music of Ceolan made it so much less like I was alone.
As my photo friends made their way home, back to America, today - I photographed the Doolin Village and then...(to be continued)
Slainte (correct spelling!)
Tuesday, we journeyed to Burrishoole Abbey. Near the road's entrance, there is a stone wall creating a closed circle with three huge trees. This is the burial site for famine children who had not been baptized, a large grave site with no markers now on private land. We walked down the abbey road at our own pace -with Connie, Dotty and I sharing a moment with three local cows (I mean cattle). It felt a bit like a stand off to see who would move last. The cattle won. :-)
Burrishoole Abbey was built in 1469. It is on the land's edge where the quay and ocean converge. It is believed that cows will lie down on patches where water runs in the earth beneath them. Farmers not too long ago would carry a slice of bread of something in a pocket in case they suddenly experiences Faire Gortha (Great Hunger). Some believe it is the convergence of water under ground, and I believe it could also be related to where a famine victim collapsed or was placed on the ground by those carrying them when they had to switch sides. It is a sudden strong need for food that can't be appeased by a fruit or sweets (at least it wasn't for me).
On Wednesday, we journeyed to Achill Island exploring another of Granuaille's castles, more famine houses, and cemetery where the sheep have adapted to walking on the rock walls or leaping up onto them to get over them. They seemed much more hesitant to jump down than they did to jump up. One came within the width of a gravesite distance for the grass growing beneath me. Walking back, I met Louisa, an adorable white terrier who posed for me and shared her collar tag that read: "When I grow up, I want to be a Rotweiller."
The afternoon was spent walking Keel Beach, a blue flag beach, where swimmers donned wet suits and took to the frigid waters. One man wore only a brief - we shivered and couldn't watch. As we were leaving, Sue and I met a young couple who had come on their honeymoon from Leichester the first time, and returned now with three small children.
Thursday, we visited the Craggan. The vast bog lands on the way are so different that the sheep won't even graze there. That is indeed a sign, as the animals here seem pretty smart. We enjoyed a late lunch at Neville's Pub. I had my first of Irish beef, and it was so tasty. I could really taste the freshness.
My favorite day was Friday, when we took the ferry to Clare Island. We were transported up the three miles to the lighthouse. Carefully, on hands and knees, I crawled to the edge and photographed downward. I was so high up that it was disorienting at first - and then I realized just how high up I was: 350 feet to the rocky shoreline below me. Crawling backward and walking up steeper, I looked back to find that the overhang we had been on was solid, yet eroded in spots. The winds there made it impossible (or foolhardy) to walk up to the edge. What a rush, and more scary after - when I realized just how high up it was. We meandered in the sporadic mist and drizzle (no fogging up the lens necessary), the three miles back downward toward the dock - stopping along the way to visit with a weaver in her shop, shared crackers with a knitter, and enjoyed our packed lunch in the cozy cottage of Shari & Olcan.
The island is not really a tourist destination for most, instead, it is a working village where its residents rely on good old fashioned hard work and ingenuity to get by. The local school serves 21+ children, and secondary students must live in the mainland homes of other family during the week and only go home on weekends and holidays.
My last day with my photography group and photo caddy, Saturday, we stopped in Kinvarra, a small fishing village with a castle. We were given the challenge to only take 10 photographs. At first, it was tough, but with a bit of focus I found I was better at capturing better, more meaningful images. Thanks, Connie!
We lunched in Ballyvaughan, where thatch cottages are more common and for rent, and walked about making our way back to a meeting spot. Along the way, we had the great fortune to stumble upon a painting landscape competition with artists who were very willing (the two I spoke with) to share their work and their thoughts. Our final time was spent in and around The Burren. It is so beautiful, and so barren at the same time that it is amazing how much life it sustains. It is much like a granite dessert. We not only saw a variety of wild flowers, but also wild donkeys and farm cattle. At one time, farmers were asked to reduce the size of their herd by half (paid to do it) because the thoughts were that the cattle grazing was harming the wild flowers and such. Recently, botanists who've studied the impact agreed that the reduction was actually harming the landscape because of the reduced manure.
After hugs and wished for a safe journey, I parted from my photography group yesterday and had my first late dinner with no soup. I couldn't bear to not have Olcan serve Maureen's...it was the best! Instead I had Irish stew (poor lamb) was so yummy and filling - and the music of Ceolan made it so much less like I was alone.
As my photo friends made their way home, back to America, today - I photographed the Doolin Village and then...(to be continued)
Slainte (correct spelling!)
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Explorations
Salutations dÍreland!
Since I've last posted, we've been photographing a variety of places and themes. Sunday was our sabbathing day, and started by our attending mass at Ballintubber Abbey. It is the oldest surviving abbey in all of Ireland. It has been a place of prayer since 441BC, founded by St. Patrick himself. The original abbey was constructed in 1216. Even partly destroyed in the 1600's to the restoration in the late 1800's there was mass. The abbey is 29 years older than Westminster Abbey. Each year, many make the 23 mile pilgrimmage from the abbey to Croagh Patrick, walking through farm fields and using the stiles (openings) in the stone walls for passage.
During the time of the Penal Law (when catholics weren't allowed to publicly honor their faith, there were priest hunters. When one tried to kill the priest of Ballintubber Abbey he failed, only wounding him. When the hunter died, the priest had him buried near the entrance to the abbey. A tree grew up there splitting the grave in half and uprooting the hunter. How spooky...
The afternoon was spent at Carrickahowley Castle - one of the five belonging to the pirate queen of Westport: Granuaile - Grace O'Malley. Let me tell you, it may look small in stature but it actually held over 500 people in its time, and they were even succesful at keeping the British out of Clew Bay. After three weeks of battle, the British army gave up and went home.
As a pirate queen, Grace stole from ships carrying goods. If they agreed to let her board, she'd steal everything. If they didn't, she'd steal everything and then some. This put a little dent in the tax collection for England. She had a great following for those local, as she didn't keep the money. She used it to help support the poor. A female Robin Hood.:-)
This particular castle is the official O'Malley clan's mainland castle. If you are an O'Malley, you may be part of that clan and would have a right (the honor) of visiting the properties with much greater access.
On Monday morning, we explored Sheaffrey Wood: home to the magic of Ireland. While Olcan played his flute the fairies snuck in and out of the photographs sometimes dancing and other times seeking mischief. Near the road is an abandoned house, further up are the fox gloves, bot cotton, and fly traps: local flora that add color to such a thick green backdrop.
Walking the river's edge, it felt like home with fish jumping (sorry, Devin - didn't catch any!), bugs biting, and the clouds creating a peek-a-boo feel with the rolling mountain backdrop.
That afternoon, we made new friends in Leenane, tucked in between mountains. This place, this community is the essence of Connemara with the pub (short for public house) being the lifeblood and gathering place in this single street village. I met Antoinette from the east coast of Ireland and her friend John from Inisturk, who danced when Olcan played; he even taught our photography guide a few of the steps.
Hilary, the long-time owner of the pub, even invited me behind the bar to get a better view to photograph some of the others. Every time he saw a camera, he'd stop and pose. I did finally capture his image when he wasn't looking, but it took some time indeed.
If Leenane seems familiar in name, it may be because there was a film made called "The Field" or, if you're a history conniseur, you may have already read about the Doo Lough tragedy. When the village of from Leah Mountain heard that there were supplies in the next village, they walked the Doo Lough Pass over the mountain in an effort to survive. Part of the walk included passing a lake. Well, Leenane was that "next village" and there were no supplies. Tired and weakened, they decided to walk home. With heavy rains, the lake rose too quickly and over 500 people drowned.
The Chocktow Tribe in the US heard about their plight and having survived their own Trail of Tears, sent $100 to help the survivors. Now, each year there is a pilgrimmage walk to honor the victims and raise money to eradicate hunger.
Next post, I'll update you to the final days of this journey with my fellow photographers - and share a bit about "faire gortha" - Great Hunger. Until then, safe journeys...
Since I've last posted, we've been photographing a variety of places and themes. Sunday was our sabbathing day, and started by our attending mass at Ballintubber Abbey. It is the oldest surviving abbey in all of Ireland. It has been a place of prayer since 441BC, founded by St. Patrick himself. The original abbey was constructed in 1216. Even partly destroyed in the 1600's to the restoration in the late 1800's there was mass. The abbey is 29 years older than Westminster Abbey. Each year, many make the 23 mile pilgrimmage from the abbey to Croagh Patrick, walking through farm fields and using the stiles (openings) in the stone walls for passage.
During the time of the Penal Law (when catholics weren't allowed to publicly honor their faith, there were priest hunters. When one tried to kill the priest of Ballintubber Abbey he failed, only wounding him. When the hunter died, the priest had him buried near the entrance to the abbey. A tree grew up there splitting the grave in half and uprooting the hunter. How spooky...
The afternoon was spent at Carrickahowley Castle - one of the five belonging to the pirate queen of Westport: Granuaile - Grace O'Malley. Let me tell you, it may look small in stature but it actually held over 500 people in its time, and they were even succesful at keeping the British out of Clew Bay. After three weeks of battle, the British army gave up and went home.
As a pirate queen, Grace stole from ships carrying goods. If they agreed to let her board, she'd steal everything. If they didn't, she'd steal everything and then some. This put a little dent in the tax collection for England. She had a great following for those local, as she didn't keep the money. She used it to help support the poor. A female Robin Hood.:-)
This particular castle is the official O'Malley clan's mainland castle. If you are an O'Malley, you may be part of that clan and would have a right (the honor) of visiting the properties with much greater access.
On Monday morning, we explored Sheaffrey Wood: home to the magic of Ireland. While Olcan played his flute the fairies snuck in and out of the photographs sometimes dancing and other times seeking mischief. Near the road is an abandoned house, further up are the fox gloves, bot cotton, and fly traps: local flora that add color to such a thick green backdrop.
Walking the river's edge, it felt like home with fish jumping (sorry, Devin - didn't catch any!), bugs biting, and the clouds creating a peek-a-boo feel with the rolling mountain backdrop.
That afternoon, we made new friends in Leenane, tucked in between mountains. This place, this community is the essence of Connemara with the pub (short for public house) being the lifeblood and gathering place in this single street village. I met Antoinette from the east coast of Ireland and her friend John from Inisturk, who danced when Olcan played; he even taught our photography guide a few of the steps.
Hilary, the long-time owner of the pub, even invited me behind the bar to get a better view to photograph some of the others. Every time he saw a camera, he'd stop and pose. I did finally capture his image when he wasn't looking, but it took some time indeed.
If Leenane seems familiar in name, it may be because there was a film made called "The Field" or, if you're a history conniseur, you may have already read about the Doo Lough tragedy. When the village of from Leah Mountain heard that there were supplies in the next village, they walked the Doo Lough Pass over the mountain in an effort to survive. Part of the walk included passing a lake. Well, Leenane was that "next village" and there were no supplies. Tired and weakened, they decided to walk home. With heavy rains, the lake rose too quickly and over 500 people drowned.
The Chocktow Tribe in the US heard about their plight and having survived their own Trail of Tears, sent $100 to help the survivors. Now, each year there is a pilgrimmage walk to honor the victims and raise money to eradicate hunger.
Next post, I'll update you to the final days of this journey with my fellow photographers - and share a bit about "faire gortha" - Great Hunger. Until then, safe journeys...
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