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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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Glenveigh: Travel Goals Ireland
James Bond is on my mind as I drive through County Donegal to reach Glenveigh National Park. It is eerily foggy as we wind through the hills. When I checked the map earlier this morning, it looked like a straightforward drive on the highway to Letterkenny and onward to Glenview. Now my husband is navigating. He and his GPS have me on cow paths. I am literally following tractor ruts through farm country. I am expecting a supervillain to appear on a runaway tractor at any second, because the country looks more and more like the Scottish highlands in “Skyfall”.
Eventually I grow tired of complaining about the road conditions and find the parking lot. There is construction everywhere and finding the visitor center is a bit of a scavenger hunt. Once we get to the main building, we try to pay for the bus to the castle by the lake. The attendant simply points and says “free.” This may be fewest words I have ever heard an Irish man speak. (Maybe I did magically arrive in Scotland?) With no other words forthcoming, back into the mist we go to find the mysterious bus stop.
There is no bus in sight, but the stop has a good view of the lake. It is beautiful in the cool, cloudy weather. By the time the bus arrives, there is a full load of people waiting to board.
The ride along the lake is uneventful and we are glad we didn’t hike up to the house as it is raining heavily. I try to catch glimpses of the lake and castle, but it is pretty foggy. An American family is becoming increasingly loud and unruly at the back of the bus. Thankfully, we are pulling into the lot.
As I am walking to the side walk, a teenager runs by and I am body slammed…. by her father. It seems they think it is a good idea to play tag coming off of a crowded bus. Shoved violently to the side, I struggle to keep my feet and clutch my side where I am sure a bruise must be forming. The mother eyes me warily and hisses at her children to hurry on. They disappear around the corner with no apology. I shake my head. Not exactly a super villain encounter, but I have met my nemesis. If only I had a sound track to make the encounter as dramatic as it felt to me. (Da da Da Daaa).
We head inside to sign up for the house tour. The interior is more modern than I was expecting. There are strange furnishings like a chair that weighs you as you sit. It is said the host wanted to prove that guests gained weight as a result of lavish hospitality. I think I would pass.
In the dining room, a screen sits in the corner with mirrors mounted at angles. Apparently the servants had to stand out of sight and with their backs turned. They used the mirrors to see what the guests may need. No wonder it is easy to impersonate the help in all the spy movies…no one actually noticed them.
Eventually we walk the gardens and trails as the rain stops. The views of the hills descending into the lake make me remember time in Scotland. I walk farther up the hills and smell the heather. The mist tickles my nose. I remember standing in the highland pass where Skyfall was filmed. It is warmer here and perhaps not as dramatic.
Headed downhill, we wander through themed gardens. Apple trees are trained to follow the fence lines. There is an Asian garden, and a Roman garden. So many beautiful possibilities.
But it is afternoon and we are hungry. I am not a super spy. I am just a reasonably fit retiree hiking my way to lunch. The restaurant is in the walled garden and is named “Synge and Byrne Tearoom”. Gotta love the Irish sense of humor.
I don’t know if James Bond ever enjoyed a pot of Earl Grey and a slice of Banoffee pie. I’m pretty sure he didn’t recount tales of his exploits at the “battle of the shuttle bus”. He probably didn’t complain that the mist was making his knees stiff as he descended a mountain. But as I walk around the edge of the lake in the rain to the bus stop, the theme song is playing in my head. I think I will stop here at the boat dock and belt out at least the first verse and chorus of Skyfall as I take a few pictures of the fog rolling in. After all, the best movies are the ones you make in your head.
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An Afternoon in Kiltyclogher: Travel Goals Ireland
There is a comfort in community, ritual, and celebration. It helps us feel rooted in a place. It helps define our sense of belonging. At home, we participate with our friends and family and take our place in the community. When we travel, we often find ourselves on the fringe of a community celebration.
In Iceland we were invited to an all night town celebration where neighborhoods competed in games, songs were sung, and the entire town spent the night sitting on a hillside enjoying 24 hours of daylight. It was a memorable experience. So when our farmer friend, invited us to an all day festival just a few miles from our rented farmhouse, we decided to visit. The Stonywoods festival lasted three days officially. But most of the events were held on a Sunday.
We got up early and visited Sean McDiarmada’s homesite. Sean was a local man (I am told he was related to my new friend) who took part in the Easter rising and was executed at Kilmainham Gaol. So in this part of Ireland, where the troubles are part of living memories, the McDiarmada cottage is a heritage site. Sean is a martyred legend with statues to ensure remembrance.
On the way to the cottage, we had to back down the one lane road to allow a large tractor to pass. They were on their way to town for church and apparently the tractor run that would occur shortly afterwards. At the McDiarmada cabin, we were greeted by sheep. The cabin wasn’t open. No matter. Music played softly inside and we walked the grounds with our wooly escorts. It was a peaceful place.
I thought about the farmer’s stories of bombs and destruction. I wondered about the price of freedom and why others will fight to oppress others. Is it greed? Power? Prejudice? But this was a festival day, so I put those heavy thoughts aside.
Back in town we saw lots of cars but no people. We stopped at the community center and found a lovely bake sale. There were volunteers but no shoppers. I bought Banoffee pie and soda bread. I also asked about the people.
The people, it turns out were all at the church. Family groups stood together beside the family grave sites waiting for the priest to bless the grave of their ancestors. It was something I had not seen before, but it evoked feelings of connection and family. It made me think of the power of remembrance and respect of elders. I thought of my own family and gave thanks. I spent some time inside the empty church to pray.
A stranger suggested that if we wanted food and drink that we may want to get to the local pub before the crowd moved from the church. So we found the corner pub and claimed a window seat. People began to stream in until you couldn’t walk due to the crowd. We somehow managed to grab steaming hot fish and chips and a beef burger in the chaos.
As I was finishing off my chips (fries), the pub owner came out and tossed us all out in the street. She wanted to watch the tractor run and she locked up the pub behind her. This meant we all had to go out and watch the tractor run. It seemed like every person in the county owned a tractor and drove them through Kiltyclogher. People cheered as they passed. They drove around the McDiarmada statue on the roundabout and then on down the highway. Apparently they had a several mile course through the country. Just when I thought it was over, the lead tractors were on their way back to more cheering.
There were endless tug o war contests held in the middle of the only road through town. Cars just had to wait until a break in the action. There was laughter. There was music. There was even a sheep auction. I wondered if any of these guys were my buddies from the farm.
Somehow in all the excitement, we missed our friend. He was looking for us and we were looking for him. But hours of onlooking in a cold misty rain made me crave the peat fire at home. Kiltyclogher was still in full festival mode, but we were ready for rest. I enjoyed my day. Communities coming together….that is something we need to see more often.
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Sligo in the Rain: Travel Goals Ireland
Sometimes in Ireland the rain sets in. There is nothing to be done except to find an umbrella and sing. We find ourselves in Sligo on such a day. Using our trusty Google Maps, we find a large parking lot near the town center. So we arrive at Sligo Abbey only half drenched.
The ticket taker suggests I borrow a “proper” umbrella. It’s twice the size of my travel umbrella so I accept his kind offer. With the protection of a very large umbrella and stone arches, we have an enjoyable hour of exploration. Ancient abbeys are fascinating to me.
The hour passes quickly and it is still raining. We stroll the high street. We try to find lunch but everything seems closed. Finally we find a wonderful Italian bistro. Half the city is here trying to fortify themselves before heading back out into the rain.
We pay to visit the Yeats museum and then immediately wish we hadn’t. The fee is steep to walk a circle in a single room and read quotes from poems. They have a few family photos, and not much else. But we are dry.
Across the street, we find the Sligo County Museum. It is free. It is also a delightfully jumbled multi-room collection of artifacts. We spend time reading and exploring. I encounter Countess Markewitz for the first time. Why don’t I know about this amazing woman who fought for Irish independence? I am intrigued. I see reading in my future.
Our final stop is at the model. It is an art gallery, community center, coffee shop and probably other things. We came for the art. Everyone else apparently has other purposes. We are alone in the gallery. Like everything else in Sligo, it features the Yeats family. Apparently in addition to the famous poet, there were artists.
My spouse is uninspired. Art is not his thing. But just as I am drawn to the words of W.B., I also see glimmers of the soul in the paintings of Jack. I ponder and linger. It is still raining and here I am warm and dry. A subtle rustling and shifting of feet lets me know it is time to go. Our day in Sligo is ending. Time to head back. Perhaps will we find a pub with a nice peat fire to while away the last of the day. If I am lucky, there will also be Guiness stew.
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Prisoner of Hopes 