The Emerald Isle

Note: I hope this isn't anti-climactic because we are already home. I was not able to post anything the last days in Ireland, but wrote the following when I had the time.

April 26, 2007: We are in County Monaghan, Ireland, in search of the elusive roots:

Tonight is for all practical purposes our last night in Ireland and the last night of our trip around the world. Tomorrow night we will be in a Dublin airport hotel steeling ourselves for the early morning flight to London and then on to Dallas. I have written nothing about Ireland as yet, but hopefully I will be able to finish this chronicle and then post it when I can. The present hotel has no broadband, but if I'm lucky I can post in the airport hotel or during our four-hour layover in London. (That didn't happen, thus I am posting from Big D!)

Leaving Asia seems eons ago, and I don't think we've had time to put it all in perspective. It may take months for that to happen. For the last week or so we have seen much of the Emerald Isle and we are (yet again) flabbergasted by the beauty and the prosperity. Tom and I were in southern Ireland about twenty years ago and found it sad and depressed, the pubs gray and the lads grayer, so much so that we returned to England earlier than planned.

This time, since the Irish economic boom, everything is different. The first innkeeper told us that it has all happened in the last ten years. We have seen literally no poverty (although we haven't been to any big cities), but rather lovely houses, tidy farms on rolling hills dotted with cows and sheep, and once again, happy, smiling people. And oh so friendly. The Irish live up to their reputation in that department. It's hard to fathom how much grief is going on in so many parts of the world when we have seen so much that is completely the opposite. I guess it means there is hope after all.

Ah, lads and lassies, I could write a book about this beautiful country. Sure there has been "the trouble" between the North and the South that has gone on for decades, but some of the Irish that we've talked to have expressed optimism that the current peace will hold in spite of continuing antagonism. But this is not the place for that discussion. On with the travelog.

We flew from Beijing to London to Cork, in the south central part of Ireland about 7 or 8 days ago, and after more than fifteen hours in the air, we picked up the car--the largest we could get to accommodate our prodigious amount of luggage--loaded it up, and drove the twenty miles or so to Kinsale, a lovely seaside town on the "Irish Riviera." Luckily, even though it was about 8 PM by then, (much later by our inner clocks), it was still light. Tom did yeoman's duty driving in spite of the fact that he hadn't driven the "English " way in years. Driver's seat on the right, stick shift maneuvered with left hand, and most fear-inducing, driving on the left side of the road. I assumed my usual position as navigator with map in lap and interspersed my directions with terrified gasps of STAY LEFT, STAY LEFT, NOT THAT FAR LEFT!

--as he would over-compensate and practically run into the ditch or rip off the side mirror on a street pole. Mary and Neil sat stoically in the back wedged in by suitcases. But after some getting used to and no major calamities, we pulled into Kinsale just at dusk.

That we might have difficulty finding the hotel hadn't occurred to me, but in spite of the intimate nature of the town there were no signposts and the Pier House didn't jump out at us. By now it was dark and Tom was getting frazzled, so I jumped out of the car and ran into a pub to ask directions. I told the young barman that we were lost Americans just into town trying to cope with driving on the left and couldn't find our hotel. He turned out to be Polish and said it had taken him a long time to get used to the driving too, but he hadn't heard of the hotel. I'm thinking how can that be? The town is small! And the hotel was on the internet! But then an Irish lass stepped in, looked it up in the phone book and called. It turned out to be a small B&B just down the street well concealed from the road and barely marked from the street. Anne Hegarty, the proprietor, was waiting for us at the gate and she helped us schlep the bare minimum (still a lot) of our stuff into her house and up two flights of stairs. That meant leaving a few large bags in the car and of course Tom and Neil were convinced that robbers were going to break into the car and steal our dirty laundry and Asian souvenirs. Anne looked with amazement at the suggestion that we couldn't leave our stuff in the car unprotected and simply shrugged and said, "Everything will be fine." And it was. We were also parked in a No Parking zone, but Anne said not to worry, the authorities had gone home for the evening and as long as we moved the car by 10:30, no problem. Welcome to small town Ireland.

The rooms were simple but homey, they had great internet connections so I was able to post the last of the Asian info, and Anne's breakfast was fabulous, served in a lovely sun-dappled morning room with chintz curtains and and an antique breakfront. We usually stay away from Bed and Breakfasts but we loved the Pier House and we extended our stay an extra night. This solved the problem of free-lancing one night with no reservation.

The next day we had a tour of the Old Head Golf Course which was built and is owned by the brothers Patrick and John O'Connor. Patrick is a great friend of our friend Avery who lives in Cannes, France. We've actually had dinner at Patrick and Julie's fabulous home on the French Riviera and so we were delighted to be able to take him up on his offer to visit the course if we were ever in the neighborhood. Neither Patrick nor Julie was in town but their daughter Lara had been told we were coming and she greeted us when we arrived. (Thanks, Avery, for arranging that!)

Old Head is a jewel among golf courses, set right on a rugged point at the southernmost tip of Ireland, surrounded by water and ancient boulders and highly coveted as a destination by golfers all over the world. As a fledgling golfer, I can't really relate, but it was definitely gorgeous and all I could think was I wonder how many golf balls have been lobbed into the sea. The course is under major renovation at the moment as they add fifteen suites to the clubhouse and re-do the other buildings and some of the greens. Not that it needed it to our way of thinking, but apparently it never had a hotel or anyplace for the golfers to stay on the grounds until now.

After meeting Lara, she arranged for us to be squired about by Danny, the Director of Golf, i.e., the head pro, who is a darling young Irishman who clearly loves this place with all his heart. He reminded Tom and me of our Eric. He drove a four-wheeler and then we walked practically every hold while he pointed out the difficulties and vagaries of each. Neil, the only real golfer among us, was salivating with desire to play the famous Old Head, but alas it was not yet open for the season. Driving and walking around was enough for me, just listening to the story of Old Head. One interesting fact I picked up was that they "hand wash" the greens because otherwise the salt spray would ruin them. Not blade by blade, of course, but with hand held hoses--a daunting prospect indeed when you see the size of it. But just one of many expenses in maintaining such a special place, I suppose.

Back at the B&B, Anne wanted a blow by blow of our visit and allowed as how it was a good thing they were putting in the suites because Old Head sometimes had trouble attracting the super rich since Kinsale has no five-stars. I said but they could stay with you and she just rolled her eyes.