Europe 2008 - Our Grand Tour - Berlin

Apartment

September 21, 2008…We’ve been in Berlin now for 24 hours. We are in Prenzlauerberg, a bohemian, former East Berlin area that defines the word hip. We walked for hours today trying to get a feel for our “berg”. Tomorrow we will rent bikes and get a better idea of how Berlin is situated. We really felt the seasonal shift today - it was actually chilly. So, scarf around neck and wool sweater on, we made our way two doors down from our apartment to a pasta restaurant called Tiegwaren. (Didn’t sound Italian to me, either, but the food was outstanding.) The menu was in German, the waiter spoke no English so we pointed to words we thought sounded somewhat familiar and voila! Wait, I mean verhing! Delish! We then went directly next door to a very eclectic, sort of second-hand-store chic, bar named Rote Lotte and chatted with Sven, the bartender. I say he’s gay but definitely into me. Tom said he was most certainly gay and most certainly into him. Whatever. He was a delight and even taught us some German. 

Listen - http://tts.imtranslator.net/1iC3

Update on September 22, 2008 by stacie

September 22, 2008…Random words to describe my perceptions of Berlin; graffiti, massive, heavy, muscular, brawny, friendly, resurgent, cosmopolitan, hip, avant-garde, but mostly heroic.

Prenzlauer Berg Street

Berlin Tram

Update on September 23, 2008 by stacie

September 23, 2008… It was a misty, rainy day…

Graffiti in the Former East

Dorotheenstadtischer Freidhof 

Update on September 24, 2008 by stacie

September 24, 2008…Now, if yesterday was the wurst we have to put up with, I think we’ll be okay. It was cloudy and misty all day. We still went about our business, but it was less fun than if it had been like, say, today. Today was glorious. We ran in the morning, took the subway (U-Bahn) to the city center (Mitte) and hopped on a City Tour double-decker bus so we could see all the major sites of Berlin with the sun in our faces. Success! We got off the tour bus at the Ka De Wa (Kaufhaus des Westens) and went directly to the sixth floor of the elegant eight floor department store. The sixth floor is the gourmet floor where you’ll find at least 1,800 cheeses, 1,400 breads, 2,000 meats and a whole lot more…it was insane! So much food in one very posh place - a great display of wealth. I got three types of herring and an assortment of bratwursts before Tom had to reign me in. We made our way back to our Prenzlauerberg apartment and I started cooking the brats straightaway.

Sights

Europe 2008 - Our Grand Tour - Amsterdam

September 13, 2008…This day, the day I was wary of, was nothing but a smashing success. We got up on time, caught the train “a Paris”, fought our way through the metro to the Gare du Nord, jumped on the Thalys to Amsterdam and dead reckoned our way to our apartment in the hipster Jordaan section of this amazing city. Take a peek at our digs…

We arrived mid-afternoon. The sun was shining and the temperature was about 65 degrees. Perfect. I was ready to get out and explore. Tom? Well, he was very cranky and beyond tired. He was down right hostile. I said, “I got to go!” And without waiting for his response I was down the stairs and on the street looking for the nearest market. I found the Dutch version of a Saturday farmers market. (landbouwers markt) It was wondrous. I got cheeses, bread, cream, vegetables, fruits, meat and vino. Oh, and some fresh chocolat for Tomas. I heard street musicians playing traditional Dutch tunes. I walked the streets for hours, my jaw dropping lower each corner I turned. Like Venice, I do believe this is a city everyone must visit in her lifetime, it is that unique. We’ve got seven more days here so I’m sure we’ll find some trouble our way…

The view

My Bike

Amsterdam at Street Level

Update on September 14, 2008 by stacie

September 14, 2008…Not much time to write - we’re in Amsterdam, after all. After a day of walking and touring the canals on boat, we are in the apartment for a quick break (vino for me, coffee for Tom) before we go out for dinner and, perhaps, a visit to a coffeehouse?

Amsterdam by Boat

 What Red Lights, Tom?

Later that same day…Tonight we ventured forth to dinner at around 6:00p.m. The architecture of this place is all about verticality and narrowness. The houses lean forward and each has a beam that juts out from the roof on which hooks and pulleys can be seen. These hooks and pulleys are used to ferry furniture up the outside of the buildings and into the windows and they are tilted forward so the furniture and other cargo does not crash into the front. Everyone rides a bicycle. There are cars to be sure, but the sheer lack of space, let alone parking space, is such a disincentive to driving that the city (at least where we are) is far more pedestrian and bicycle friendly. The persistent, but one must say polite, ringing of little bicycle bells is as bad as it gets to keep pedestrian and cyclist from winding up in piles in the middle of the narrow streets. It’s quite charming and endearing, really. Ring!! ring!! ring!! Anyway, tonight we ventured quite aimlessly in search of a restaurant and found any number of them. Ours was an embarrassment of choices. After dinner we wandered down the canals and came to a moored boat along the bank of one of the canals. The captain was cinching the rope closer to the shore when Tom hailed him and started asking questions about life on a boat in the middle of such a big, eccentric city. No sooner had we started chatting than he invited us on board. It was enchanting, comfortable and magical. We were inside this rather spacious, long room smelling of new paint. The portholes looked out nearly at water level, so you realized that everything from one’s waist down was actually below water level. The kind Friesian (north Holland) told us he lived there with his wife and 4 month old baby. Everything was very tidy. It had to be living on board ship. He owns the boat outright and pays the city the equivalent of 900 euros per year as “rent.” Not a bad gig in a town where space is at a huge premium. Then we were off to the Café Belgique, a charming Belgian beer and ale pub with the lovely scent of pot wafting on the very cool night breeze. Dion and the Belmonts were belting out Donna the Prima Donna on the juke. It was like sitting somewhere up the tower of Babel. The bartendress was French, the patrons from all over Europe. I had a piquant impertinent Belgian ale. Tom had a sparkling water. The walk home was under a full moon in a clear autumnal evening. The Amsterdammers were promenading in an unhurried desultory kind of way. It is a very relaxed place here. One that it would be easy to be seduced by. So much to see, such fine people to see it with.

Update on September 16, 2008 by stacie

September 15, 2008…Today we walked to the Rijksmuseum and did the art museum thing. The fun was in the walk, but seeing a couple of Van Meer’s and a few Rembrandt’s was really marvelous as well. Two words - Night Watch. Ok?  The day was partly overcast and there was a fall breeze in the air. We took the long way home while I shopped at all the trendy up scale fashion emporia. We finally made it to the Dam, which is the only real square we have seen in Amsterdam. It seems that there were several of these squares in, for instance, Vienna and Prague and Budapest. Perhaps because room is so scarce, there is only the one. Or maybe we’ve yet to discover the others? We stopped at the Vleeschhouwerij Slager (butcher) for some homemade sausage, farmhouse gouda and cream and went home start cooking dinner. After dinner (10:00pm) we went for a stroll, wandering aimlessly up and down the lovely, lit canals in the Jordaan neighborhood.

Rijksmuseum

September 16, 2008…Not only is it Diez y Seis, the day of Mexican Independence, it’s my mother’s birthday so - Happy Birthday Mom! Anyway, today was partly cloudy and slightly warmer than it was yesterday, but stil nicely cool. There is no question that autumn is in the air. We rented bikes from a kind, helpful fellow and spent the afternoon having an authentically Dutch experience, tooling along the cobbles just like the natives. The bikes are the antitheses of pretentious, more akin to papergirl clunkers or the kind your sisiter would have pedaled back in the 1960’s. So with the pretense gone, there is no need for hotdogging or looking sharp, you just get in the bike groove and coast. Of course Tom being, well, Tom, he had tucked his pants into his socks and started pedaling away. I had to yell, “Um yeah, no!” He pulled the pants out of the socks and we were on our way. Tom’s bike had panniers so we did our daily market stops: butcher, kaas shop for homemade gouda, bakery, vegetable and fruit markets, etc., and put all the groceries with his bike. (It takes half the day to get one’s meal for the evening, but it’s great fun!) No one wears a helmet, but then again, no one crashes of falls down, but it is worrisome to me to see young parents, for instance, with their infants in front-loaded shoulder totes, cruising along the streets, sharing the road with Vespas, cars, trains and other bikes. 

Bike

Update on September 18, 2008 by stacie

September 18, 2008…Time flies when you’re having such a grand time. I really must spend a few moments writing but we are going non-stop and I can’t find the time to sit down and blog. And why should I? I ask myself. This is Amsterdam.  I amsterdam. I must see and do all I can in seven days. No time to sit around in this lovely 17th century apartment building in the middle of the most vibrant part of the city…I need to be out biking, museum hopping, shopping, photo snapping, or drinking coffee at a sidewalk cafe. Today we went to the van Gogh Museum which houses not only 200 of his paintings, but also the late-19th-century art that influnced him. It’s a cultural high even to those not into art. Afterwards, we biked around town, swerving in and out of traffic, just like locals. As for dinner - we have tried “Oud Dutch” cooking and “Eclectic European”, but tonight it’s “Tapas and Vino” just down the street from our apartment. Tom stated, “I’m not really sure what tapas means.” “Well, I said, let me tell you a little about tapas. Tapas is not a particular type of food. Anything can be tapas - paella, croquettes, ham and cheese on toast, truly anything. As long as it is small and served with your drink. Tapas is not a starter. If you start eating tapas, you finish eating tapas, and you don’t stop until you’re full. In the early days of tapas, a slice of cheese or ham was given with your drink and placed over your drink. There is some debate over why exactly this was done, for instance, to keep the flies out or to hide the smell of bad wine. I prefer the first explanation.” By this time I had lost Tom altogether. He interrupted, “Can we go now?”

Canal Scene

Reflections and Tom

Cafe Drink

Update on September 19, 2008 by stacie

September 19, 2008…The Grand Tour has been all about the arts, when it hasn’t been about food (me) or fishing (Tom), and Amsterdam has had its share of great painters. The great artistic movements of the 19th century here in Europe are inextricably intertwined with the tragedy of early death (see, for instance, Oscar Wilde) and with the myth and mystique of drugs, booze, and mental illness (see, for instance, Vincent van Gogh). But the big one, the misunderstood one, the enticingly illegal one, has always been Absinthe. And so today was all about Absinthe (and a few Belgian ales). Some of the photos we post here may show the influence of the Absinthe that made its way to us, but pay the distortions no mind. It’ll wear off by tomorrow. I think. This is our last day in Amsterdam and it was bright and crisp. We walked through the city, which is really like one big carnival/street fair, watching people, and discovering and chatting with the consummate philosopher and international man of mystery “Sylvio” (codename perhaps?)(some say he is from Brazil, but does anyone really know?) about the complex state of the world and other imponderables. Tom said the mysterious and wise “Sylvio” reminded him a little of “X-Swami-X”, a notorious denizen of the Berkeley street scene from the 1970’s. Then off to a street book fair, where all these really smart, really good looking Dutch people (we were told they were so because they drink lots of “day fresh” milk) were poring over tomes on philosophy and art. Then we stumbled into one of those “Praguesque” side streets (like Diagon Alley from Harry Potter) which opened into a one-of-a-kind, enclosed, quiet, leafy square in the center of which is a Scottish Presbyterian Church in which Mozart is being performed tonight by a world renowned violinist and Amsterdamian pianist. We will be in attendance.

Tapas y Vino

Absinthe Minded?

Sylvio, International Man of Mystery

Canals Converge

Handle Bars

 

Europe 2008 - Our Grand Tour - France

September 6, 2008…We made it to St Malo! We flew out of Dublin to Rennes, hitched a ride to the Rennes train station and caught the 6:30 train to the lovely, walled city of St Malo, Bretagne, France. It wasn’t quite as simple as all that but I’ll get to that tomorrow. I’m far too tired to continue right now. Au revoir.

St Malo

Fort National

Street Artist

Store in St Malo

Update on September 7, 2008 by stacie

September 7, 2008…We’re here in St Malo for our second day. The weather, which has been our adversary, finally became our friend. It was sunny most of the day today. But more about our arrival. After being delayed for over two hours on the plane (during which I snoozed and Tom fumed) we finally took off on the one hour flight to Rennes, the “capital” of Bretagne, which, as we all know, is France’s land of the Celts. After we touched down, we got a lift to the train station by a wonderfully kind Rennes woman, named Celine, who drove us the ten minutes across town to La Gare. I just happened to ask her, on the plane, “Is it easy to get to the train station from the airport?” She said, “Oui, oui, mais je dois aller a centre ville, allors je vous porterais.” (In english, “no problem”). Then I said, “You surely can’t be serious?” “Oui, oui, madame”, she replied. “Well then, to the train station!” I cried. Without her kindness we would have had to wrestle our heavy packs a long way past (for instance) the woman’s prison and other oddities we passed. Then we got our very inexpensive tickets for the 55 km train ride toward the coast and St Malo. There is nothing to compare with the comfort and speed and cleanliness of French trains. It was a delight to ride these rails. Tom’s Jesuit friend, Fr. Al Naucke, who is a trainophile, would love these (and probably does). The train let us out in the rain and wind and we hefted our heavy packs for a longish walk until we found ourselves outside the looming walls of this magical marvelous “ville”. We woke late and went for a run along the beach. I guess it’s because we have been hardened by our experience with the Irish weather that we did not let the howling wind and rain deter us. Then home to our unbelievably expansive (not expensive) and charming apartment above the Hotel Croiseur for showers. We then emerged into the bright sunny afternoon and explored all the shops under the looming battlements and ramparts. I must say, I love this place. Just look! Everything is so, um, well, French, n’est-ce pas?

Update on September 8, 2008 by stacie

September 8, 2008…”For somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something good”, Julie Andrews keeps repeating in my head. To deserve this place and this day, it surely must have been something I’ve done. It was beautiful. St Malo is grand. A morning walk on the walls surrounding St Malo was followed by a leisurely swim in the sea. This was the scene: the sky was cobalt blue and the water emerald green. There was a faint wind, just enough for the sweet smell of freshly baked croissants to waft our way as we soaked up the Breton sun. Suddenly, I made a mad dash for the water. I ran through the surf and dove under the waves. It’s the way the French do it - poule mouille - just dive in! Tom took some coaxing by a Frenchman in a speedo yelling, “Poule mouille! Poule mouille!” (Tom wore his running shorts) I thought the Frenchman was yelling “Wet chicken!” or “Get wet, chicken!” Now that I think of it, maybe he was. Either way, Tom dove in and said,”Ok, that’s enough!” He added, “I’ll come back tomorrow with my speedo on. In fact, maybe I’ll go nude!” “Yikes!” I cried.

The Walls

Yesterday’s Beach

Today’s Beach

Update on September 9, 2008 by stacie

September 9, 2008…

St Malo

Bookstore St Malo

 

Update on September 10, 2008 by stacie

September 10, 2008…Well, it’s been a few days since we touched in, but it has been a grueling couple of days of shopping, promenading in the moonlight on the ramparts as the sun goes down in a salmon light show over the (French) Channel, running, shopping, swimming, shopping and getting up late. Oh, did I mention, shopping? Wait, let us not forget eating and drinking. Yeah, that too. We’ve investigated travel down to the (reportedly) cute, quaint town of Dinan, and we had wanted to go by boat up the Rance River, but the boats are subject to the tides, draw-bridges, speed limits and other headaches that make an embarcation in the few days we have left quite impossible. So we are going to the gare tomorrow, to take the train to Dinan. The very agreeable Celine, who gave us the life saving ride to the train station when we first got off the plane in Rennes, told us that we must go there, so tomorrow it is. Today dawned particularly sunny and calm, so we went on a long (52 minute) run on a nearly deserted stretch of beach that reached from here to next week. After our run we did a bit of shopping. Tom wants a beret so we were on a mission to find one. I’ll preface the beret shopping experience with this - Les gens de la France are helpful and charming, except for one or two whose job it is, I’m sure, to treat the tourists in such a way that the French continue to enjoy their reputation as snobs. Now, the Beret Saga…”Tom!” I yelled! “I’ve found the hat shop you’ve been looking for!” Tom dashed down the cobbled street and stumbled into the shop. The “femme proprieteuse” uttered in a disdainful, barely audible voice, “Bon jour.” Tom replied, with enthusiasm, “Bon jour, Madame! S’il vous plait, I would like a black beret.” (not raspberry) “No, no, no, monsieur!” she cried. “There are only bleu berets and I can tell your head is too big. We have not your size. Au revoir!” And with that she walked away. We were left standing in the small, stuffy shop with no beret, fuming.”F**k her! She was trash!” Tom hissed, in his best Robert Loggia from the Jagged Edge.

St Malo Harbour

Update on September 13, 2008 by stacie

September 12, 2008…It was time to move on. We had watched on several nights the gibbous moon just beginning to wax over the ramparts of this stone city on our evening strolls to the seaside that put a luster on the water to the west and it was magnifique. But we must keep traveling east, so we set out this morning for the capital of Bretagne, Rennes. We are staying here one night and will catch the 7:00 a.m. TGV (train a grand vitesse, which means really, really fast train) to Montparnasse in gay Paris. We then have to do the mad dash from there onto the metro, across town to the Gare du Nord to catch the second half of our train trip to Amsterdam. We have an hour and a half to get this task done. If all goes exactly right, I mean precisely correctly, we’ll still be three minutes late for the train. AAARRRGGGHHH!!! No, just kidding. With any luck, we’ll be fine. When next we connect we’ll be in the city of Rembrandt and Van Gogh. We just got back from dining at the Cafe Noir. I started with a glass of champagne before a bowl of soupe de poisson followed by a fruits de la mer salade with vin rouge and finally plat du fromage. (yum) Tom had pizza and water. (yawn) 

Rennes Abbey

Typical Rennes Timber Frame 

Europe 2008 - Our Grand Tour - Northern Ireland

August 30, 2008…We begin our trek to Northern Ireland today. We’ll be seven days on the road and end the Ireland portion of our trip in Dublin. Today, if all goes well, we’ll be in Donegal Town by mid-day lounging in our new accommodation. Take a look…

Lough Eske Castle

Update on August 31, 2008 by stacie

August 31, 2008…Really, there are no words to describe our stay in the castle last night and our drive north, through Co. Donegal today. I could try but, I dare say, the words have yet to be coined. I’ll post some pictures but they won’t do justice to the beauty of the area we drove through nor the grandeur of the castle. Now then, we’ve never been this far north in Ireland. Oh, what we’ve been missing. We left our castle about noon and went to Donegal Town for lunch. We then headed north through some of the most beautiful country I’ve ever seen. We stopped so many times along the way I can’t recall all the village names. We ended the day in Dunfanaghy, on Horn Head, a peninsula jutting out in the North Atlantic in Co. Donegal. Before we settled into our hotel we hiked out to the end of the peninsula, to a castle ruin on the edge of the world. The sky was blue, there was no wind, we could see nearly to the smokestacks of New York! We got back to the hotel and went, straightaway, to eat at the Carrig Rua Seafood Restaurant across the street from our hotel. One, wait, two words…seafood chowder! The best we’ve had so far. (We’re eating seafood chowder wherever it’s available) Now? We’re in the hotel lobby listening to a gaggle of four Donegal women making music of the English language, doing handstands with their turns of phrase, the likes of which you have not heard!

Me

Co. Donegal

On the Edge

Update on September 1, 2008 by stacie

September 1, 2008…

Malin Head

Rainbow on Atlantic

Derry

Update on September 2, 2008 by stacie

September 2, 2008…We blew out of Derry late, getting an hour’s grace from our new found friends at the City Hotel. Everything was “wee” this and “wee” that. “Here’s your wee table. This is your wee room.” “What are you saying to me?” I screamed. “Calm your wee self!” I heard, in reply. It must be the Scots influence on the tongues of the northern Irish. We were making for Belfast and watched the passing countryside fly by us. The distances were in miles and the petrol was in pounds. But pounds for the Irish in the north is “pinds”.  Wee pinds. Just outside of Belfast, where Tom wanted to stop to see Stormont Castle, the place where the Good Friday agreement was hammered out that transformed for the present the situation up here, the skies opened and the rain lashed us. We decided that negotiating a tough big city was bad enough but doing so in the rain was too much. So we waved goodbye to Belfast from the M2 and headed for Carlingford. And here we are in this charming medieval town just inside the  Republic, next to the City of Newry. There are remnants of castles and battlements all through the little town. We are staying in the Village Hotel in the heart of town and just returned from the Taaffe Castle pub where there was a traditional music session and story telling. The band played “It’s a Long Long Way From Clare to Here”, one of Tom’s favorite sentimental songs that he learned thirty years ago. While the song was being played, I looked over at him and he was weeping gushers.  We’re back in the hotel. It’s well after 1:00a.m. and Tom seems to have recovered from the overload of sweet Celtic melancholia but not from the sticky toffee pudding that he ate at Kingfisher Bistro! Ok? 

Entrance to Carlingford

Hi Mom!

Pub on the Road to the North

Update on September 4, 2008 by stacie

September 4, 2008…I’m so sorry but I really don’t have much time to write at this moment. After all, we are now in Dublin and there is so much to do and see in this wonderful city. As a matter of fact, we are, just now, setting out for the Abbey Theatre to see Oscar Wilde’s, An Ideal Husband, after dinner, of course. Here are a few pictures from Derry to tide you over. Oh, wait. Tom insists I write some Derry history to complement the photos. I guess we’ll be fashionably late for the play… 

The sad story of Derry begins over 300 years ago but the recent 40 years put it all in stark relief. We stopped at the Free Derry Mural in the Bogside neighborhood and at the H-Block Memorial to the Volunteer IRA martyrs, whom the Iron Maiden Maggie Thatcher killed back in the 1980’s by pursuing her icy-veined “not an inch” failed policy of not treating the Irish Catholics as political prisoners, which they plainly were. We also visited the Bloody Sunday Monument, a tribute to 13 unarmed Irish Catholics whom the British army murdered in cold blood in 1972. There are any number of “Bloody Sundays” in world history (nearly all perpetrated by the British during their empire building or during its slow tortured decay), but U2 gave this one the lasting infamy that it deserves. I challenge anyone to see these monuments, learn what they represent, and keep her eyes dry. 

Free Derry, by God!

Derry, the Walled City

Update on September 5, 2008 by stacie

September 5, 2008…Dublin, Ireland. My, oh my! I’m not sure I’ve ever seen rain like the rain I saw this morning. We awoke at 9:00 am and I opened the curtains and saw, well, nothing. The rain was hitting the window straight on and I couldn’t see beyond it. I thought, possibly, someone might be spraying the window in order to clean it but, no - t’was the weather and nothing more. We intended to hire a bicycle and ride to all the important sites in Dublin but it was not to be. Instead, we ate a full Irish breakfast (rashers, sausage, black and white pudding, eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms and toast), drank coffee in front of the fireplace, and contemplated the day. About 3:00 pm the rain let up and the sun tried to reach beyond the clouds so we set out to conquer the city center. I wanted to do some shopping but Tom isn’t much into shopping so we ended up in The Stag’s Head pub for a coke and a wine. We were instantly surrounded by a herd of Dubliners on an “after work happy hour”. We ended up chatting with them for hours about all sorts of issues. It was brilliant. We depart for France tomorrow so our stay in Ireland is coming to a bittersweet end. Alas, we, most certainly, will be back - possibly to live. Who knows…

P. Kavanagh & T. Phalen

Only Man Who’ll Listen to Tom

Dublin Canal

Europe 2008 - Our Grand Tour - Ireland

August 2, 2008, Mulranny, Ireland…We made it! It was an unbelievably easy, uneventful flight to Dublin. No, really. The car rental experience was touch-and-go but Tom pulled through in the end without hurting the agent and we set out for the west coast with a 5 hour drive on the narrow, rural roads for which Ireland is famous. With no sleep under his belt, two-way, narrow, rock-lined roads and a minimum 120 km/h, Tom had a meltdown so I had to take the wheel. Sure it may have been all of 15 minutes most of which was in stand-still traffic, but Tom got his 90 second nap and was back behind the wheel speeding toward our home on the North Atlantic and I saved the day. Now then, after a very restful night of sleep, here I sit, looking out at the calm waters of Clew Bay, Croagh Patrick in the distance, a warm cup o’ joe in hand, writing this journal.

The house

The view

Irish door

Update on August 3, 2008 by stacie

August 4, 2008…Mulranny is a quaint village. It has a grocery store, petrol station, post office and pub. Wait, it has two pubs. It also has mountains, beaches, bogs, streams, cliffs and clean, crisp air. It’s a stunningly beautiful landscape. There is so much to explore. Tom is still dealing with jet lag but I’m ready to get exploring. Next stop - Galway City. Stay tuned…

Store in Mulranny

 Achill Island

Tom’s creek

Update on August 5, 2008 by stacie

August 5, 2008…We got a late start today - stayed up too late watching the sun set and drinking wine. No matter, it was overcast and windy, perfect sleeping weather, no?  I drank two cappuccinos, stared out at the developing rain storm over Croagh Patrick and decided it was a good day to drive to Galway City, so we did. We left at 11:00 a.m.  It rained the entire trip. It took 5 hours. Tom stopped at every stream he saw. (There are lots o’ streams in Ireland!) We stopped in Clifden and had a scrumptious rhubarb crumble and a cup of coffee. We arrived in Galway and went straightaway to The Cheesemonger for an assortment of cheeses and salami to take back to Mulranny. We ate at the wine bar above the cheese shop - a smorgasbord of smoked fish, meat, cheese, olives, bread and a couple of glasses of vino. We walked about town and headed back to Mulranny by 7:00 p.m. I think I’ll go to bed now…

Burrishoole Friary

Update on August 7, 2008 by stacie

August 7, 2008…I don’t have a lot of experience with extended vacations. Oh sure, I’ll take a two or three week trip every year and jam-up the days with as much sightseeing as possible. But this trip is a bit longer than usual so I’ve decided to pace myself. For instance yesterday - we didn’t do much of anything. Let’s see…awoke at 9:00a.m., drank coffee on the porch gazing at the sea, ran for 1.5 hours up the coast and back, took a couple of walks, went to the beach, went grocery shopping, chatted with the locals, cooked stuffed chicken breasts wrapped in bacon served with cauliflower, carrots and onions, drank a nice Bordeaux…oh, and joined the local Leisure Center. The Leisure Center is a gym/pool/sauna/hot tub complex less than 500 meters from our house. Alas, it’s time to get busy.

The beach

One of the locals

Update on August 8, 2008 by stacie

August 8, 2008… I’m famously early to bed. But the lingering twilight here that bathes the sky in pastel ‘til 10:30 p.m. makes it irresistible to stay awake until sinfully late. Tom was particularly slug-a-bed, not stirring until 10:30 a.m. (I think that’s 4:00 p.m. in dog years). We finally have settled in. We did a day of errands, which sounds dull and mundane to my readers, but everything is still an adventure, particularly the music of the language we hear from the locals. (Or foreigners, Tom buttonholed some unsuspecting French tourists on the road to an Corraun and butchered the language of diplomacy with them until they cried “oncle” - that’s uncle in French) We traveled to Newport and schlepped the bruscar (that’s “trash” in Irish) to the dump (very state of the art and environmentally friendly) made a note to chow at Kelly’s Kitchen there and rambled on to Westport, a charming town that has really captured my heart. I left Tom with his journal at Curry’s Tea House (it was scone and “capachino” (that’s how they spell it here) time) and I went in search of a new pair of running shoes. Score! 25% off and just what I needed. We returned to Newport (ancestral home of the O’Donel’s who have a grim reputation as landlords) and ate white and black pudding. This translates into blood sausage and bacon pork sausage. Nothing like seared swine flesh and lots of blood to take the edge off. I washed it down with an impertinent red wine. Then on the way home, the piece de resistance. We took a tiny suicide Irish country road through the gorse and bracken and brambles and suddenly found ourselves at the Rockfleet Castle, the home (one of many) of Herself, the Pirate Queen of Mayo, the inestimable Granuaile (Grace) O’Malley. A French couple endured Tom’s bull-in-the-China-shop tongue for a while and told us how to open the door and go in. No one guarding it or taking tickets or anything. This is a 400 year old stone castle, solid and sturdy as if it were built by Dave Norton himself just yesterday and it was all ours. Owl’s nests built on landings through the tiny slit windows. The Pirate Queen used to sleep here with her ship tied to her bedstead (this is true) just in case anyone was foolish enough to try to commandeer it. Have a gander at the pics. You can’t find this kind of stuff everyday back in Phoenix. It gives you goose bumps.

Grace O’Malley’s Castle

In Grace O’Malley’s bedroom

Step up

Update on August 8, 2008 by stacie

Cottage by the Bay 

Baah Rham You!

Update on August 9, 2008 by stacie

August 9, 2008…This must be what it’s like in Ireland most of the time - rain, wind, fog and mist. Sure, there’ll be a clear sky for an hour or so, in between all the “soft weather”,  just to tease me. And being the novice Irelander that I am I fell for it. This time. A break in the weather was all I needed to set out to conquer the mountain in my back yard. I was about 3/4 the way up - on bike - and the weather changed from so-so to terrible. I was enveloped in a cloud of rain for the last portion of the steep ascent and could barely see five feet in front of me. I swerved to miss a herd of sheep when suddenly, out of the mist and rain, Tom appeared, soaked to the bone and shivering. I yelled over the gale-force wind, “Need a lift?” He cried, “Please!” So I put him on my shoulders, pedaled down the mountain and back home to a toasty fire and a nice glass of 2004 Cotes Du Rhone. He may not agree with how everything transpired, but, after all, he was delirious.

Update on August 10, 2008 by stacie

August 10, 2008…Sundays are made for long, leisurely runs and long, leisurely drives. So we did both. After a leisurely run up the mountain over-looking Clew Bay we drove north through the Nephin Beg Range to Ballycastle. I suppose I should mention the weather conditions - rain, more rain, wind, rain, a spot of sun then more rain. Had it not been for the freshly baked scones slathered in butter and topped with fresh cream I’d have surely gone mad. After one bite I forgot all about the rain. But, I digress. Now then, we made our way to Ballycastle and Polke’s Pub where we visited with Brian Polke, the 81-year-old proprietor. Seems the pub’s been in the family since the mid-1800’s. Business must be good. We got back to Mulranny by sunset and sat by the turf fireplace with a warm cup of tea - how very Irish.

In Polke’s Pub

Through the Rain

Update on August 11, 2008 by stacie

Roadside 

Update on August 15, 2008 by stacie

August 13, 2008…I haven’t written anything in several days because I haven’t done much. Sure, I could tell you about my bike ride “over hill, over dale, through bush, through briar, over park, over pale”, to a secluded beach even the locals don’t know about, or sailing the open seas on a windsurf board among 10 foot waves, or maybe climbing Croagh Patrick barefoot, but why bore you with the mundane? The real and pressing issue is the weather - two days of non-stop rain! Yeah, sometimes it’s a soft, mist-like rain, but mostly it’s a heavy, hard rain, one you think, surely, can’t last. But it does. It just keeps coming. And coming. Mind you, I’m not complaining. I could be stuck in the hot and humid monsoon summer of Phoenix. I’m grateful I’m not. But, if I don’t get an infusion of sun to replenish my vitamin D supply soon, there’s no telling what might happen.

August 14, 2008…”Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air” -Ralph Waldo Emerson. And so it was. A day of sunshine, at long last. It’s time to get out of the house and explore more of Co. Mayo. We are going on a drive through the Nephin Beg Mountains on a narrow, curvaceous road called The Western Way and then to the other side of Clew Bay to find more river prospects for Tom’s fishing fetish. I’ll let you know the outcome. Later that evening…We met two couples on our journey through the Nephin Mountains and they invited us to join them in their picnic feast. So we did. “Please, have some cake,” said brother #1. “Thanks,” I said, grimacing internally at the stale “brick” that lay before me on a soiled napkin. “You’re too kind.” Brother #2 yelled, “Take some for the road…we insist!” “No, no, no,” I pleaded. “You must leave some for yourselves.” And with that they all agreed. We named the two gentlemen of the group the Bothy Brothers as they were picnicing at the bothy on the Bangor trail. That’s right - the bothy on the Bangor trail. Now then, we did find some water for Tom to fish and, lastly, met with his cousin, Mary Duffy, in a pub in the lovely town of Westport. What a delight. We arrived home about half-eleven. The moon, waxing gibbous and reflecting off the ocean’s surface, was magnificent.

Bothy Brothers

Sunset

Update on August 16, 2008 by stacie

August 16, 2008…We got a bit of a late start today but were in the car heading to The Deserted Village on Achill Island by 2:30 p.m. For many years people lived in the village but in 1845 famine struck in Achill as it did in the rest of Ireland. Most of the families moved to the nearby village of Dooagh, which is beside the sea, while some emigrated. The village of some 80 single room buildings was completely abandoned, hence the name. Fascinating. By nightfall the sky had completely cleared of the one white cloud that’s been hanging over us for what seems weeks and the lunar eclipse was in full view. What a sight. The moonshine reflecting off the bay is really quite spectacular.

The Deserted Village

Waterfall

Achill

Update on August 17, 2008 by stacie

August 17, 2008…After two weeks of pleading with Tom to get up early and hike the magical mountain that is Croagh Patrick, he finally caved. This is how it all happened…I awoke early to something that has become quite foreign to me - the sun peeking through the curtains. I threw off the covers, ran to the window, ripped open the drapes and stared out, blinded by the sun. Tears of joy ran down my cheeks as I began to realize my dream of climbing C.P. was about to be fulfilled. I leapt onto the bed and began jumping up and down to startle Tom. It worked. After he got over his anger, he, too, could not deny that this was “The Day”. And what a day it was. It was glorious in every sense of the word. Legend has it people actually climb to the top barefoot as a way to reduce purgatorial sentences. I thought, surely, t’was legend and nothing more. Of course, on the trek up, who do we pass, but some Irishman walking barefoot up the steep, rocky trail. I’d rather take a harsh purgatorial sentence! Anyway, at the top we had about 20 minutes before the weather turned to low clouds and light mist. We started our descent and made it back to our car in record time. I had to stop in my new favorite town, Westport, for a nice big bowl of homemade Irish stew and a glass of house red and the all important, “I Climbed Croagh Patrick” t-shirt.

Croagh Patrick at the bottom

Midway up C.P.

From the top

Update on August 18, 2008 by stacie

August 18, 2008… We went on an afternoon drive but I really can’t tell you much about it because, well, I fell asleep. Tom says we drove to Ballinrobe, the birthplace of the parents of his friend John, but I have to take his word for it, because I was snoring the whole time. I did wake up ever so briefly to snap a few fotos but for most of the drive I slept. That is until we drove through Westport. As far as I’m concerned all roads lead to Westport. “We really must stop, Tom…I’m famished,” I muttered, in my best ‘famished’ voice. Tom’s reply - “Oh brother!” And with that we found a parking spot and were walking the streets looking for a place to eat. Many shops and restaurants are closed on Mondays in Ireland. Luckily, Sol Rio was open and not yet full, so we got a cozy table for two and promptly ordered a glass of Shiraz. (Tom had a coke) They have a rather eclectic menu, a fusion of Irish home cooking and Mediterranean cuisine. I had tagliatelle with smoked salmon and asparagus. Delish. Tom had, um, actually, I don’t remember, but I’m sure it was good. Anyway, we were about to order dessert but backed down at the last minute. Instead, we walked across the street to Matt Molloy’s, the famous pub owned by the man himself, the flautist for the Chieftains, Matt Molloy. He resides in Westport, we’re told, so Tom is anxiously awaiting his meeting with your man, Mr. Molloy. I guess we’ll be regulars of Molloy’s in the coming weeks.

Horse and Ruin

Tom at Molloy’s

Update on August 20, 2008 by stacie

August 20, 2008…This could have been the best day yet, weather-wise. I knew it was going to be a grand day. I could tell by the clouds. There weren’t any! This was my chance to get on the bike and pedal my way around Co. Mayo. I biked to one of my favorite places in all of Mayo, Achill Island. I’ve posted entries and pictures of Achill on this very journal so you may know we’ve been there often. But, today, I worked to get there - 20 miles of hills along the Atlantic coastline and back again. I was single-minded in my approach - pedal hard to the Irish Knitwear shop on Achill Island and get the hat I’ve been lusting after. Of course, when I got there I saw a lovely sweater I just had to have so I bought both. Once the shopping was done I could relax - lunch on the veranda over-looking Achill sound, people-watching, soaking up the sun’s rays… Overall, the day was a great success - exercise, shopping, eating. Is there really anything else?

Along the Coast

Coming of Night

Update on August 22, 2008 by stacie

August 22, 2008…Three days of glorious sunshine and I’m like a new person. I rode the bicycle to a deserted beach and actually swam in the chilly North Atlantic. It wasn’t too bad, although when I got out of the water and the sun hid behind a puffy, white cloud, well, I froze. My fingers? Numb. But, it was well worth it. I can carry this memory with me and recall it next July, in Phoenix. Know what I’m sayin’? Later that evening we met Tom’s cousin, Mary, and Mary’s father, Mr. Duffy, for a delightful dinner in Louisburgh - great food, dare I say, outstanding food, but I must say, better company. How fortunate for Tom to have relatives in his ‘homeland’. Our next stop happened to be the best pub in Newport, The Granuaile. Thursdays are ‘Traditional Night’. Ok? That meant nothing to me until we walked in. There were three Irishmen sitting in the corner of the dimly lit pub. One had a fiddle, one a guitar and the other a small harp. They started playing some traditional Irish music as the crowd (full house, I’d say) listened and drank their pints. It was fantastic. Tom wanted to get up and do an Irish jig but I restrained him so as not to embarrass me. We are already known as, “that American couple”, and I’m not quite sure how to take that.

Update on August 24, 2008 by stacie

August 24, 2008…We had planned to run a half-marathon in Longford, a town about two hours east of us, in the Midlands, but, much to our surprise, the race was full and they would not let us enter. Tom pleaded with the race director telling him we’d come all the way from Arizona to run this race but the guy wasn’t impressed and didn’t change his decision. Tom was crushed. He decided to run his own half-marathon and I was to be his support, providing apples and water when he looked like he needed it. I was on the bike, he was on foot. The wind was blowin’ a gale at 30 mph in all directions. Mist and fog were our companions. Other than that it was grand. Two hours later, as Tom approached the imaginary finish line and ‘broke the tape’, the skies cleared and the wind died…wait, no they didn’t. 

Stormy Sea

Update on August 25, 2008 by stacie

August 25, 2008…What can I say about a day like today? It was brilliant? Grand? Bonny? I think, maybe, miraculous is  most fitting. The wind wasn’t blowing a gale but it was windy enough for big ocean waves to form. The sun was shining for five, maybe six hours continuously. What I’m telling you is that there weren’t any clouds. Not one. I biked to MY beach, sat down on the sand and stared out at the waves pounding the shore. As I felt the ultraviolet radiation slowly penetrating all five layers of my epidermis I was rudely interrupted by two surfers. Surfers? “Are you mad!”, I yelled to the intruders. “You can’t surf in these waters! This is my beach!” The roar of the ocean must have been too loud because they ignored me and paddled out to catch some waves. Oh well, I guess I could go to the pub, sit on the deck overlooking the bay, and drink a Smithwick’s. I did. Blocked from the wind, the sun hitting my face, a lovely couple from Australia to converse with, I drank a half-pint of beer and continued working on my Irish tan. Later Tom and I went on a drive to scout out a potential river for him to fish. We found a round tower ruin and plenty of ripe blackberries but no river. (that was fishable, anyway) How does that saying go? Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to fish? Yeah, that one.

Boat on Lough Cullin

Round Tower

Update on August 28, 2008 by stacie

August 28, 2008…We’ve been in Ireland for a month and have adjusted quite well. We’ve seen and done some wonderful things. We’ve also met some wonderful people. Last night we were invited to Peter and Genevieve Murray’s home for tea. I’ll get back to the “tea” but first, a brief history of how we met Peter. He and his crew are building a studio at the Browne Manor, the house we’ve occupied for the past month. (I liken him to DL Norton but on a slightly smaller scale). Tom being, well, Tom, he immediately went out to introduce himself and tell Peter all about his studio building skills. After all, he and Norton just finished our studio not 18 months ago. Wait, that’s how long it took them! Anyway, Tom and Peter became instant buddies. Now the tea. I was expecting to have a cup of tea. I mean, one gets invited to tea expecting tea. Oh, there was tea. There was ham. There was turkey. There were three types of bread. There were cakes, cookies, bars, wine, cheese…you get the idea. The “craic” was flowing until midnight and then we went to the pub where, by chance, we met Peter’s parents. There was a trio playing traditional Irish music and the place was packed. We stayed until 1:30am and returned to Peter’s for coffee! We got home at 3:00am. It was brilliant. 

Killeen Graveyard Flower

Headstone 1784