Chasing Shiny Pennies

I’ve decided to try another approach to the blog, rather than post at the end of each of our stays, I’ll TRY to post a couple of times during each one. No promises, but we’ll see how that works. As the title says we’re here until the 19th, that’s a travel day. Yay, more driving stories.

We arrived at our Burren, County Clare (otherwise, you’re in one of the other Burrens) stay at around 8ish. Seriously, for the thrill of a lifetime, do some night driving in Ireland. Make a few wrong turns. End up on a road, (They call them that. They have numbers and everything. Very official. It instills confidence.) pitch black, hedgerows or rock walls on each side of you, no visible means of escape… I know I’m harping, I know, but truly, I have no comparison. Unless, Avery, it’s the Batman ride at Six Flags. It’s like that except there’s no known ending. With Batman at least you know up front you’re in for at most 120 seconds. Here, it can go on for an interminable period. You count on seeing headlights coming in the distance (don’t) and the very occasional appearance of small carve outs in the rock walls (they’re quite beautiful in the daylight {the walls, not the carveouts} [the carveouts are beautiful at night though], at night, driving, they are the stuff nightmares are made of) ((((I am somewhat appreciative of the difficulty caused by my punctuation pauses, hesitations, etc…sorry, I can’t fix it. I can’t write in a straight line.)))) and hedgerows. I come to a full stop and cower as the occasional opposing car appears. They blow past a 80 kph. Car insurance must be sky high in this country. Mine was $221 for 16 days if that’s any gauge. And I’m not even sure that I have a car to insure.

On the way down from Puffin Lodge (no puffins, but delightful nonetheless), we stopped in Galway for dinner. Liz picked out a place right in the city center. At rush hour. Here’s a driving tip for you. For relatively stress free driving (in an unfamiliar country or really even any large city), go during rush hour. Traffic proceeds at a snail’s pace, there’s always someone in front of you (a guide if you will). That is way less stressful than traveling at 100 kph on a road with no shoulder, no escape routes, someone right on your ass, and then…….warning Will Robinson..round-a-bout. Take the second exit……NO, that was the third!!! That’s the last you will hear of driving in Ireland (it won’t be). We arrived safely and settled in.

Today (16th), we visited Corcomroe Abbey and Finavarra Martello Tower.

Most of the pictures above are of Corcomroe Abbey. founded in 1182. I don’t know why this stuff fascinates me, but it does. Almost 850 years ago (at this location, much earlier at others) folks figured out how to construct buildings and structures that still stand. There is a beauty, a refusal of time, endurance in these buildings. They’re quite amazing.

Liz wondered how they got in to the Martello Tower. It was built during the Napoleonic Wars as a coastal defense. I showed her the one opening that was different than the others. Either a ladder or ropes (we could see a log anchored in the stonework). She was really, really certain she could make it in.

Then we had dinner.

Liz’s perspective: The absolute quiet, the cool breeze and the unhurried lifestyle has captured my soul. I noticed at the gravesites at the Abbey most of the deaths were of “elderly” 70-90 year olds. I am convinced that the slow pace of the communities adds to longevity here. I have no hard evidence of this theory, but I am experiencing a slowing down of myself. My thoughts, my insistence that I get something, anything, done each day, and my need for stimulation. I truly believe if we could all live at this Irish pace we might be happier and live longer. No scientific proof here, just my assessment of the moment. Of course the food, ever available water scenes and having the love of my life close by, might be contributing to this experience but whatever the reason, I am loving it.

9:00 pm (here) and published. I am a wizard. Call me for all of your tech consulting needs. I should have done this years ago. They don’t give this job to just any chimp!!!

Today (17th). Sorry folks, another driving story coming at you. You’ll want to read this one though. Experience it vicariously. It’s really safer that way.

We planned to do the Cliffs of Moher. They are about a 45 minute drive from where we are staying (near New Quay {pronounced New Key (but in an Irish accent)}). I told Liz, no dawdling tomorrow, I’m setting an alarm. I set if for 8 am, woke up at 6 am (I was excited, what can I say). I should have rolled over and gone back to sleep. It was overcast and sprinkling. Liz got up around 8, did her morning thing and we headed out. It’s about 40 kilometers, so 24 miles. That should have told me something right there….but it didn’t. I mean, 24 miles in 45 minutes. The math will tell you that that’s averaging 32 mph. 32 mph is a touch over 51 kph. The problem is, the speed limit is 80 kph on most of the trip. And they drive that…or more. I hadn’t thought all that through. Only in retrospect does it seem foolish. Like those things you did in your late teens, early 20’s, that, now, when you think back on them you realize….Wow, it’s a wonder I’m alive. Next time I’ll be more careful (probably not, that spring still flows…).

But.. it was morning and I was ready to go!! Now, this is an N (for national) road and previously, I looked forward to N roads (according to Google – Not as narrow as R’s). They will now be filed under my “total unknown, you pays your money and you takes your chances” category. This road has been squeezed down to the bare minimum necessary for 2 cars. Stone walls, hedgerows, drop-offs they were all there. Sometimes, all three…at once. Have you ever noticed that when you have something immediately to either side while driving how constricting that feels. When it’s on both sides, it’s even worse. It’s one thing when you have 12′ or 14′ wide lanes. I’m fairly certain that they measured the widest car here, added 6” and then told the road crew “Go build it lads.”. “What about when buses and trucks are on the road sir?”…”Ah, it’ll work itself out.” (that was all in an Irish accent!!). If I was a country, I wouldn’t be calling them National roads. Maybe Google was wrong, maybe the N stands for…Not for everybody. Remember Braveheart? The crazy Irishman? Just sayin’.

We went up Corkscrew Hill. Imagine the “Crookedest Street” in San Francisco. Then take away any sight of what you are about to experience,. That’s Corkscrew Hill, but only if you squeeze the lane widths down a foot or so. About halfway to the Cliffs (before we even got to Corkscrew Hill) Liz said, “This is all we’re doing today. Then I’m hitting the bottle.” Sometimes, she can be very sensible. But we made it. And lucky for us, there was heavy fog. The fare collector said it was supposed to clear up in the afternoon and that the tickets were good for 24 hours so if we wanted to come back, we could. I told her I was unsure I wanted to drive that road again.

Corkscrew Hill.

The fog, when we arrived, didn’t offer much promise of a view. But It cleared off some while we were there. We had a good time anyway. By the way you can take a bus. Liz was adamantly against that idea when I told her that we could have taken the bus. We passed a couple on the way back. It’s a hair raising experience. I would choose poverty before I would take that job.

The Cliffs of Moher.

So, there you have it. The fog cleared after we’d been there a bit. We had a wonderful time, I would not drive that road during high season. But…you decide.

Tomorrow, I may have to finally tackle the stolen car issue. But, there’s a Welsh weekend in the next town over. Singers in the pubs. I can’t find any info on it though, but, still it’s worth a check.

Today (18^th). No driving story today. Other than to note that today, when we went out, the road that seemed so constricting yesterday, felt positively expansive. I’m adapting, apparently.

Yesterday evening, I got a message from our host informing us that that there was a Welsh Festival in the next town over. Ballyvaughan. I didn’t find much information online, but thought we should give it a look. So we did.

There were 2 bars in town, a whiskey bar and a bar attached to a hotel. I figured the whiskey bar was the better bet. We parked and went in.

Picture a room maybe 20′ x 20′, with a bar. No one behind the bar. Every chair filled and people standing. Focused to the front left (as you walked in) corner, dark, everyone singing. Presumably a Welsh tune (because… Welsh Festival). There was a 3 foot square of floorspace right in front of the door that was unoccupied. Nowhere else to sit or stand. Liz turned around and left, I would have stayed for at least a couple of minutes just to try to figure it out, but when she left I followed. Once outside she said..”I thought I was interrupting a funeral.”. We moved on.

The bar attached to the hotel had a few people drinking. Several who were clearly on their way out (suitcases next to tables). The bartender was not particularly happy to be working. There were a couple of locals (my guess, they were drinking a lot of beer so I assumed they’d be walking home {these roads are hard enough sober}). We had a drink and sat for a while chatting, watching the comings and goings. We’d been there about 20 or 30 minutes when a couple of guys in the room started playing. One on the piano and the other a guitar. Ragtime would be my description. They played for maybe 20 minutes, the piano guy was very good (but what do I know). We had another drink, they took a short break (there’s no interaction between the musicians and patrons, they’re just doing their thing). When they came back, the piano player pulled out an accordion and started doodling, and it started sounding like Irish music. Oh, yeah.

Sometime before the two musicians took their break I had made a reservation at a restaurant down the road a bit. We had a bit less than 2 hours.

As we sat there, listening, we witnessed the organic growth of an orchestra, a group of friends, acquaintances, that came together to play. Simply for the pleasure it gives them.

They weren’t playing for the crowd (all 6 of the non-musicians in the place). They were playing for themselves and the music (and, it turns out, a departed musician they all knew). There were 5 to 6 violins, 2 accordions, a concertina, several flutes, 2 to 3 guitars, 2 Uilleann Pipes (yeah, I had look it up, too), a banjo, and an Irish frame drum. There was no structure. No leader. No communication (that I heard {but…ear}) about what was planned next. There was just a very natural flow, this growth, as new instruments and people arrived. Someone would start doodling, playing a bit here, a bit there, and others would join, one at a time, figuring it out, then it would become all hands on deck. Someone would get up to get a beer, or coffee from the bar, sit back down and start playing again.

While we were there, more musicians and instruments arrived. They would arrive, find somewhere to stow their instrument case, find a seat, get themselves a drink, sit down, and start playing. In the middle of a song, or riff, or whatever was going on.

The music we heard ranged from ragtime, Irish (I’m certain that’s way too broad, but….), Appalachian porch music (without the discordant vocals {I love those, though}), and bluegrass. It was astounding.

The Fountain Bar. Ballyvaughan, Ireland.

Unhappy bartender, pure chance, the universe providing. Go figure.

It is the most singular experience of my life.

Driving day tomorrow. Don’t expect much. Except driving stories, if that… Castletownbere is next.