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Heading Home
It is a strange sensation when you have lived in a temporary home for awhile and it is time to leave. Our retirement plans include seeing the world, one rental house at a time. For this month, we have made our residence near the border of Ireland and Northern Ireland. It is a no man’s land where borders are more of a suggestion. A land that has had its fill of the troubles.
Our little farmhouse and its owner have seen firsthand the horrors that can be inflicted one neighbor to another. The past isn’t mentioned or is whisked away with a hand and an Irish smile. The wounds are deep, but they are swallowed by the beauty of the land and the pride of place and the fierce love of family.
While I love every inch of Ireland, this trip has been less about vacationing and more about discovery of what it means to be Irish. And so, I rise early and sip my Bewley’s and nibble my last bits of homemade Banoffee pie purchased from the local church bake sale. I go outside to the porch and I let the morning damp make my hair even more untamed. I feel the chill of the sunrise as I wait for the sun to appear over the mountain.
The sheep visit for one last goodbye and even the cows come down to the gate. An Irish send off of the highest order, as if even the livestock sense our parting. I grieve their loss even before we leave.
It is bittersweet, the leaving. I have come to love this place and its slower rhythm. It is always good to be home, but the USA is in turmoil right now. It has been nice to be somewhere that has seen trouble and still manages to laugh and sing. Family is the tonic that is a constant thread; here and there. Ireland’s lessons continue to resonate.
It is a long drive to Shannon. Along the way we stop at the national farming museum. I am reminded that people have always use their wits to get on with their lives. No longer any wood? Burn peat. An over abundance of straw? Make furniture. Line your shoes with cardboard. Make clothes from cast off fabric. I come from sturdy stock who face life’s challenges head on. Character forged in famine and strife. It resonates.
We settle into the hotel at the Shannon airport and prepare for an early morning departure. I am technically going home, but why do I feel like I am leaving home? From the first day I set foot in Ireland long ago, I felt a sense of belonging. Each time I leave, I feel a sense of loss.
I am heading home to the USA and I am unsure when I will return to the Emerald Isle. But when I wake up on a Spring morning, and smell a light rain on the grass I will close my eyes. And in my memory, I will hear the gentle bleating of sheep and the sound of the wind in the meadow. I will revisit the many colors of the mountain as the clouds pass overhead and maybe just maybe, when I open my eyes I’ll find a rainbow.
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Ceide Fields: Travel Goals Ireland
Once in awhile, I find myself in a place that feels timeless. I could be anywhere at all. Time stands still between the Earth and sky. At Ceide Fields near Glenurla, County Mayo, it is easy to forget modernity in favor of a simpler life.
It is cold and the wind coming off the Irish Sea bites into my cheeks. My hair whips up into my eyes. Endless fields of bog and grass dance in the breeze.
A boardwalk lets me explore fields that were farmed for millennia without even getting my feet wet. Stone walls that were literally built in the Stone Age peak out from under layers of dirt. If I look beyond the path and across the years, I imagine families here. Men and women working the land to survive and children playing. Livestock in circular pens. Smoke from dozens of small fires.
Maybe it is my imagination. Maybe it is Ireland. Today I feel timeless. The centuries are but wind. There is only the sea and the land. Time has no meaning under a sky this blue. Ceide fields has taken me in.
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Hike On: Travel Goals Ireland
When the kids said they wanted to go to Ireland to hike, we gladly rented a farmhouse. I picked a part of the country known for iconic hikes. We went earlier and spent a few weeks exploring counties Donegal, Mayo, Leitrim, and Fermanagh. It is beautiful country with miles of walking and hiking trails.
We deliberately waited to take some of the hikes that were highly regarded or looked most interesting to do with my daughter and son in law. Among the dozen reserved for a family hike was the Devils Chimney hike. It promised waterfalls and brilliant views over Glencar.
First we stopped at Glencar Lake and did the easy waterfall walk. It was beautiful scenery on a beautiful morning. After a long wait for coffee at the local cafe, we headed up the mountain. For days I had been eyeing the waterfall on the side of the mountain from the highway. We headed up the trail for a more intimate look.
There were donkeys and roosters along the trail. At some point the roosters blocked the trail and demanded we follow at their waddling pace. The donkeys were completely disinterested. We climbed on, gaining elevation.
At some point, my husband said “we won’t see a waterfall, the creek bed looks dry”. I couldn’t comprehend how a waterfall I had watched for days could just disappear. But was we topped the trail to the lookout…..no waterfall. To add insult to injury, it started to rain.
There were beautiful views of the lake and an old growth “fairy forest”. We found shamrocks and moss covered trees. Giant ferns lined the path, but I was stunned that I came to see a waterfall that had vanished over night. We made it to the car damp but undaunted.
The day was young. Two trails in and we decided to try another. So we headed around Lough Gill to Slishwood Forest. This is Yeats country. I think of his verse as we drive around the lake and park. It stays with me as we hike around the lake.
“I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.
I understand how this country could get inside your soul and cause a longing to just linger here indefinitely. But my hiking buddies are feeling quite as poetic and it is long past lunch time.
I distribute some easy peelers (tangerines) and Tayto crisps to hold us over. We hike the boardwalk section to another stunning lake view before heading back over the mountain.
My people are getting hangry. I just want to hike on….and on some more. I love this land. I love the forest smell and the way the lights floats through the trees. I love the crunch of pine needles under my feet and the bird song.
Hike onward. But it will need to be another day. My crew needs food and Sligo calls. A local foodie hangout wins our business. There is a view of the river from the window and branches hang overhead as indoor decorations. While we eat amazing food and relive our adventures, I am dreaming of our next hike…. It can’t be helped. I hope I always want to hike on.
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Return to the Holy Waters: Travel Goals Ireland
It felt like returning to the scene of an accident. Earlier in our Irish adventure we visited St. Patrick’s well, but on the way there, we accidentally hit a curb and had a flat tire. We made it to the well and parked, but it took hours to get help. Budget rental car, from whom we purchased full coverage and roadside assistance, was absolutely no help. It was an extremely stressful visit.
On that day I had plenty of time to sit by the soothing spring and meditate. It is a peaceful magical spot, especially so if you are in distress. The objects left by those seeking favor lend a mystical quality to the experience.
Today we ate in a nearby pub in Belcoo, and decided to bring our daughter and son in law for a quick visit. There are no accidents or mishaps to contend with. Just a pleasant family outing to a local pilgrimage site.
The kids are fascinated by the Milagros and offerings that line the trees. After taking time to look and walk the paths around the spring, we walk the pilgrimage route across the high weeds and through a rusty gate. We cross an old country road into the nearby cemetery and church ruins.
A stone altar sits quietly amongst the headstones. Someone has placed a small bunch of plants atop the ancient stone. It seems this place, like much of Ireland is a mix of pagan, Christian, and secular world views vying for existence.
I smile as I watch our children explore with the excitement of youth. Cars drive by the ancient walls and livestock moan in the distance calling for their dinner.
An abandoned church, an overgrown cemetery…yet evidence of human interaction as small tokens and remembrances reveal themselves in the most unexpected places.
This is Ireland. Perhaps the reason we return frequently. This mix of old and new. Common and mystical. Tradition alive and yet crumbling. I feel like I can touch the past. That it is tangible and yet somehow just out of reach.
I stand here in the field next to the Holy Well and listen. My children’s laughter. The wind in the tall grass. The rippling of the spring fed brook. I feel full…complete. Perhaps the well has healing properties after all.
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Stairway to Heaven: Travel Goals Ireland
Today we take an iconic hike in Ireland. The “stairway to heaven” or cuilcagh boardwalk trail is in county Fermanagh. It is just over the border into Northern Ireland and about twenty minutes from our rented farmhouse.
I have been waiting to do this hike the whole trip. I waited until our kids arrived because they said they wanted to hike. I hope they meant it because this one can be difficult. The trail is at least nine miles (if you can find parking near the trail head). We had to park at least another mile further away.
It is cloudy as we start the walk, but that only provides a dramatic backdrop for our adventure. We start out through a parking lot and then climb a stile to enter a cow pasture. I have to watch where I step. Although we see lots of evidence of cows, I never actually see them. This is ok by me. Getting chased by a bull is not my idea of a good time.
A few miles in we cross babbling brooks and climb gentle rolling hills. Sheep appear. They are content to munch reeds and shrubbery along the trail. Occasionally they block our progress. But hey, they live hear. I am just a visitor. The views are stunning.
After about four miles my husband turns back and a boardwalk begins. The famed boardwalk is uneven and exposed. It winds for what seems like forever across the bog. The boards tilt and the strong breeze makes walking a challenge. I am thankful for my hiking poles. I smile as I compare my idyllic fantasy of walking this boardwalk with the harsh reality.
Just when I think I am done with the subtle torture of the boardwalk, the stairway to heaven appears. The last section of the trail is made up of hundreds of stairs that will take me up the mountain. .. but only if my legs cooperate. I take a deep breath and head upwards.
I can see my daughter and son in law ahead. I stop to take photos and to catch my breath at each section wide enough to stop. As I pass people coming down, I remind myself that I can do this. I feel out of shape, even though I have walked miles each day. But this is different. This feels primal.
Eventually, I make it to the top. We take a celebratory group photo. I am not sure if my son in law is happy to be here or if he wants to kill me. But I am basking in the moment of accomplishment and connection. I climbed a mountain.
As we are resting, the sheep begin to move and the sky grows dark. A storm is coming. Suddenly, it seems important to get off the mountain with its exposed rock. I also don’t want to have to navigate the boardwalk in high winds and rain. My calves can’t take much more today.
So we walk on. And then we walk some more. The air is charged and the fresh smell of earth and rain is magical. I forget my jelly legs and just bask in the beauty of the moment.
Once we are off the cursed boardwalk and back on solid ground it starts to rain. I dig out my raincoat and umbrella. But it is so windy, the rain comes at us sideways. I knew I should have packed my rain pants. We are now soaked and cold. We walk on …..and on.
Finally, I see the parking lot. My husband greets us as we return to the car. It is warm and toasty inside where he has been watching and waiting.
We decide to drive to Belcoo and find a pub because our daughter wants fish and chips. It seems like a great idea. We need to refuel and celebrate the day we conquered Cuilcagh.
The local pub is friendly and the food is good. We laugh and eat. I say “we should do this more often.” My son in law says. “Yes but maybe we should have a four mile limit on each outing.” I think to myself that whatever it takes to keep the family hiking together is okay by me. Inside, I know I would hike this mountain again and again. It has found a place in my heart.
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Donegal Drive: Travel Goals Ireland
My favorite days in Ireland are unplanned ramblings. We know we want to spend time in Donegal, but it is more of a general idea than a plan. We say goodbye to the sheep standing in the driveway and head out along rural roads. We wander remote one lane roads until we find a lovely trail at an old Mill site.
The area has been gently kissed by morning rain. Flowers bloom along the trail and the bees are buzzing. Old growth trees stretch their roots along the banks of the stream. We walk around the paving stones set by the old mill race.
Just down the road is Gleniff Horseshoe. A one lane loop road runs through country surely shaped by God’s hands as a masterpiece. The pasture is green and the sky is blue. We roll down the windows and smell the country fresh air.
It is easy to forget where we are going and even where we want to go and get lost in the moment. I feel small and larger than life simultaneously in this ancient place. We are alone in God’s country. It is rare and precious.
Eventually we make it to Donegal town where just finding a parking spot is a major accomplishment. The streets and shops are crowded. After finding a few nice woolen goods, we take to the water. It is peaceful in the bay.
A charming old man sings us along. The boat sings with him. Irish tunes, sung with great pride under an Irish sky. At some point during a rousing rendition of “the wheels on the bus”, my son in law can’t quit laughing. “The mammies on the bus go gabble gabble gabble” is a new lyric to us. But laughter is the point on a day like today.
Joy is bubbling up as we spot a colony of seals. They bob and swim beside the boat. Looks like they also understand the simple pleasures of being with family in a beautiful place. All too soon, the boat turns. We head back singing Sweet Caroline with abandon.
On a good travel day, you lose track of time. The day ends and you wonder how it is already so late. You can’t remember exactly what you did. You just know you feel satisfied and content.
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On The Road Again: Rural Road Trips
As we head out on another adventure, I am oddly ambivalent. I don’t feel ill, but I also am not myself. Usually I am giddy with excitement. Today, I could just as easily go back inside and hide under a blanket.
But grand adventures aren’t for the timid. So we load up, hook up the tow vehicle, and head out. My husband does the driving all morning. We listen to the radio, sing along and eat road trip snacks.
Around noon, we get hungry and need to change drivers. We pull into a Missouri rest area. There is plenty of room for our fifty feet of rig. I always enjoy a roadside picnic. It is lovely to find a park table and eat with the sun on your face. Too soon, it is my turn to drive.
It always takes a minute to readjust to driving our ACE Thor motor coach. I feel like I am sitting on a ladder and have to use muscles I don’t normally notice to reach the gas. The brake is a different angle than my car. And most importantly, it takes up the full lane.
I remember to make sure I am in towing mode (there is a button for that). I turn on the cameras that help me see to the back and sides when passing. I attach the seat belt adjuster that my daughter made me to keep from feeling decapitated by the I’ll placed belt strap. Finally, I am ready to hit the road.
I drive along with no issues, getting used to the push of air that comes with passing semi trucks. We reach Springfield and I see construction signs. “Through traffic keep left.” I comply, but quickly realize that my lane has concrete barriers on both sides set up to and even into the roadway. I have inches to spare with no way to turn around or exit for miles. Now is not the time to panic. I reduce speed to about forty five and concentrate. I can do this. So far so good. It is a long five miles. When the barrier finally gives way to a small shoulder, I want to get out and kiss the ground.
But we roll onward. Just outside Vinita, Oklahoma it starts to rain. I turn on the wipers for the first time ever (we have never driven the coach in the rain). They work great. Swish. Swish. Swish. Swop…… The driver’s side wiper goes flying off the side of the coach. Slam. It flies back. Swop. Slam. The motions seem more uncontrolled. I turn off the wipers and drive without them. Thank goodness for a flat windshield.
I pull off at a rest area. We google how to troubleshoot and we need to open the “bonnet” covering our engine. This requires a special key. We search the inside of the rv. It is not where we think we stored it. We search cabinets and bags and finally give up. I drive on through the rain.
In Claremore, we pull into Ron Hoover Rv for assistance. The manager finds a key to the bonnet and checks the wiper. It has a tightening mechanism on the outside that he finds (no key required). After tightening and testing the wiper, he sends us on our way at no charge. “Just tell others, if you liked our service,” he says with a smile. FYI: I really liked their service.
In just few miles we stop for the night. It has been a full day and I am spent. My nerves are on edge and I am ready to rest. Maybe I can find a blanket to hide under.
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The Rovers: Travel Goals Ireland
Of all the things we could be doing in Ireland, my our son in law wants to go to a Sligo Rovers game. I was thinking music festival or dinner by the sea. But it is their vacation and we have been here for weeks, so the local soccer game is now the plan for Saturday night. The Sligo Rovers will face off against Derry.
We arrive early and park on the street in front of the Sligo stadium. Our plan is to buy groceries for breakfast at the nearby store (conveniently just across the street) and then enjoy the local atmosphere at the corner pub. It is the place to be before a big game. Season ticket holders show up in Rover Red as the neighborhood comes alive.
By game time, the place is packed. It seems the whole town turned out to see the local lads face Derry on the pitch (don’t let the sports talk fool you, I am uncertain about what we are doing here). A group of middle school boys are sitting in our row. They are joyfully rude in the oblivious way that middle school boys have perfected through the ages. The old men in our section aren’t having it. They are grumpy and rude in the way that old men excel. The boys are told to sod off to their parents. The boys fly paper airplanes into the old men and run laughing through the stands. I am caught up in the drama. This might be fun after all.
Across the stadium, the drumming starts. There are fireworks (even though signs say they are prohibited). An entire section of young men, drum and sing and stand for the entire three plus hours of the game. It is a family atmosphere with grilled burgers and canned soda. We all have a fresh juicy hamburger for what one burger would cost back home in St.Louis City stadium.
There are lots of ways to spend your money in the stadium. So of course our children have to visit the merch store at the half. I tag along. Next door to the team gear shop is a candy store. Across the courtyard are food and drink stalls. There are people selling raffle tickets. I spend time people watching and trying not to get swept up in the crowd.
Finally our daughter comes out of the team store sporting a bucket hat and our son in law has his own bag of goodies. I smile when I see how much they are enjoying themselves. This is something I would not choose do on a trip. It is good to be outside my comfort zone. I don’t love soccer….but I love these kids who are clearly enjoying themselves.
Back in the stands, we cheer and groan with the home crowd. “Let’s go Sligo!” The elderly man behind me say the same phrases so often, my son in law begins his own version of the chant. “Pass the ball ye eejits!” “That’s grand lads!” It is really interesting to watch a game in another place. The same sports ethos with a different cultural feel. Familiar yet novel.
Never mind that I don’t love sports in the same way my son in law does. When Sligo wins and the fireworks start, my heart is full. I am in a country I love with people I love (and several thousand Sligo residents). What could be a better way to spend an Irish evening?
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Enniskillen: Travel Goals Ireland
Some days despite my research, we reach a place and it is nothing like I anticipated. Enniskillen was busy. And it was raining…..again. All roads converged near Enniskillen castle and we struggled to find a place to park. We tried two different lots including one that merged with a school pick up line. I’m pretty sure we were going the wrong way at one point (based on the dirty looks). But with a smile and wave, we managed to cut through to a small lot nearby where a kind soul even gave me an extra parking token. It was just a short walk along the river to the castle.
This is where I became confused. While Enniskillen Castle had high walls and battlements, it turned out to be a series of small museums nestled together. Part community center, military museum, civic museum, and cafe; I am not sure how I would describe it. Eclectic would be the only description I can muster. Certainly, it was not what I was expecting.
We looked at memorabilia from the Royal Fusiliers battalion that had once been stationed here. We saw religious art and early inventions. There were tanks and buggies. Perhaps most surprising, there was an exhibit on an Irish newspaper that I have been reading for years. I didn’t realize it was published right here in Enniskillen. Today has been full of unexpected encounters. With a little perseverance and an adjustment of expectations, we have managed to salvage a rainy day into a new adventure.
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Mishap at the Holy Well: Travel Goals Ireland
After a long day of sightseeing at Castle Coole and Enniskillen Castle, the light rain finally stopped. On the way home, I asked to stop at St. Patrick’s Holy Well in Belcoo, Northern Ireland. I promised my husband a 99 (icecream) after we made the stop at the small pilgrimage site.
Unexpectedly, we hit a curb shortly after we made the turn. By the time we parked across from the well, we already had a flat tire. The rental didn’t come with a spare (that would make sense) and the fix a flat wouldn’t work on the sidewall.
Stressed I walked across the street to the Holy Well. The Spring bubbled continuously. It was cool under the leaves. I was hyper aware of the tokens left to petition for health and good fortune. After several deep breaths, I rejoined the fray.
I called the rental agency at Shannon airport and explained our dilemma. Instead of help, I received “how did you get this number?” I replied that it was on our rental agreement and that we had purchased full coverage with emergency roadside assistance. Instead of help I received, “the number for emergencies is on your key fob.“ click.
I had walked about a quarter mile to receive cell service and now walked back to get the key. No number, just a QR code….which only works if you have working WiFi or cellular data. We were out of range. I called the rental company and received the same hostile voice telling me how busy he was. I explained that we were not at a place where I could access the number. He grumbled but got me a number to call.
This time I got a pleasant woman who asked if we were safe and was the car off the roadway. Finally, someone who cared. She asked lots of questions, took tire details and then asked location. She couldn’t find us. I gave her detailed info and added that we were just over the border in Northern Ireland and that we had purchased the cross border supplement. She told me to stop talking and that she would transfer me somewhere else. The phone went dead. I called back the number but no one answered. I started walking toward town. It was getting late and we needed help. Perhaps I could borrow a phone book or get cellular data service further down the road.
My phone rang. It was service for Northern Ireland. Their advice was to call AAA. “I am not a triple A member. What will I say?” I was advised to tell them that I had purchased full coverage insurance and they would appear and fix the car. With much skepticism, I called the number provided. It was out of service. It was also out of service the next five times I called. The service stopped taking my calls.
It was now ten minutes to five. I had been trying for 1.5 hours to get help. As a last resort, I said a prayer and called a tire service in Enniskillen. The man was polite and understanding but said he didn’t have anyone to send, but thought he knew someone in Belcoo. He would give me his number.
At this point, I broke down and begged him to make the call for me. My battery was almost dead and I had been shuffled so many times. I was desperate. In his lovely Irish way, he told me he would sort it.
I returned to the well. It was peaceful and serene. If I had to spend the night here, it wouldn’t be so bad. The trickling water soothed my frazzled nerves. St. Patrick’s well soothed. I watched a local couple (the first people we saw) fill a water jug to take with them. They asked if they could help. I told them we thought help may be coming.
Within fifteen minutes a man pulled up in a truck. He had the tire off in five and promised to be back with a new one in ten. He was true to his word. Kind, confident and efficient. My kind of man. When we asked what we owed, he gave a price much lower than I expected and apologized saying that we were paying extra for the call out. We thanked him and gave him a generous tip. Heroes never want the recognition and he tried to give it back. We insisted.
I thanked St. Patrick in goodbye and we started down the road for ice cream…..which my husband promptly managed to get all over the interior of the car and all over me…..but that is a story for another day.
Ps: Despite paying Budget Car Rental over $1000 extra for full coverage and roadside assistance we were left to sort a serious problem on our own. We got no help from the rental counter or the emergency services. We were also not reimbursed because in the stress and confusion I did not ask for a receipt. Mea Culpa. I will not be renting from Budget again. Had we been injured or without calling capability I don’t know what we would have done. We were saved by the kindness of strangers to whom I am very grateful.
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Prisoner of Hopes 