IRELAND: Part I - Cahersiveen

“And I ask you friend, what's a fella to do?
'Cause her hair was black and her eyes were blue
So I took her hand, and I gave her a twirl
And I lost my heart to a Galway Girl

So when I woke up I was all alone
With a broken heart and a ticket home
And I ask you friend, what would you do?
If her hair was black and her eyes were blue

See I've travelled around, I've been all over the world
Boys -
I've never seen nothing like a Galway girl”
-From “Galway Girl”
Link to Steve Earle/Sharon Shannon’s version: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zFlfSeh-Ts8
It seems a bit strange that I would begin this half-cocked narrative of my European adventure with the country that captivated my mind the most, and yet holds my soul hostage until I feel like screaming for relief from these bleached-blue desert skies, murky mountains and unbearably beige cities.
I know not where to begin on how I feel about Eire, the Emerald Isle (which is no casual nickname), a land that simply exudes mystery and muse - Ireland. Where the grass grows so green not because the almost-constant rain that roots you to the spot admiring the simple beauty of the drops breaking the black glass surface of the innumerable lakes, but because of the crimson Irish blood spilled over the centuries defending that very land.
While in the midst of such beauty, I couldn’t help but get the gut feeling that staying here for any length of time in the future could lead to beautiful writing – there is an element of mystery that blankets the land like the clouds do – it’s not something you see, and maybe not everyone felt it, but I could instantly understand why Ireland is a land of superstition, curses, fairies and leprechauns. I know it sounds silly, but were any mythical creatures to walk over a crest of a hill in Ireland, they would seem at home there.
We started our adventure in Shannon, Co. Clare, at the airport. My first vision of Eire (Ireland in Irish), however, was from the plane window. All the complaining about waiting at airports and six hour plane trips was for naught – eighteen years of waiting is nothing compared to seeing the first tip of craggy green cut the endless ocean after dipping beneath the fast-moving clouds. I could spend pages and books describing the awe you feel at your first glimpse of that Isle, but you really need to see it in person to understand something that seems like it could only be a posed picture on a postcard is a complete reality.
Once on the ground, I couldn’t help but feel my spirits soar at arriving in the land of my father’s family – andf mine, too. I’m not sure which I noticed first: the mesmerizing and adorable Irish accents or the long-heralded Irish hospitality. Coming from sterile-in-comparison Sky Harbor at around 5 AM, all the employees were polite at best – here, everyone was ready with a smile, wink, fun comment, good morning, did you need any assistance, etc. We soon met our delegation manager, Adam – DM’s are residents of one of the countries the delegation visits and is responsible for the delegate’s and leader’s transportation, meals, activities, and accommodations on a day-to-day basis. It’s a tough job, to put it very mildly. And being a mostly girl delegation (7 boys and 35 girls) poor Adam was constantly attacked for pictures, etc., but knowing there’s someone with Europe knowledge making sure you’re okay is very reassuring, and he turned out to be quite a bit of craic (Irish for fun). He is a student at the University in Cork.
From the airport we got on our first coach (of many) to travel into the Ring of Kerry and our first attraction, the Bunratty Castle, complete with Renaissance Fair-like village representing the different types of homes in rural Ireland in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. One thing you have to get used to in Ireland and to some degree the UK, is your constant proximity to castles. Bunratty was the first real castle I had ever set foot in, but locals are completely desensitized to the notion castles appear only in fairy tales. The Castle itself stands between two rivers, part of the reason it had not been destroyed in one of Ireland’s many wars. It was built by the MacNamara’s in 1500’s and was taken shortly thereafter by the powerful O’Brien clan. We toured the inside of the castle, which contained many priceless tapestries and the restored great room, showing the positions of the earl of the castle, his court, and his army. We also climbed one of the towers on amazingly narrow and short stairs that seem to wind up forever and ever. We learned that castle stairs always wind upwards to the left – if you are attacking from beneath (presumably after breaking into the castle) your sword hand is blocked by the wall. Conversely if you are coming from above to defend, you have a free range of sword motion. After taking the beautiful castle, gift shop, and doing some people watching (many Irish and English school groups were visiting the castle that day, as well as guided tours for retirees from France, and I also thought I heard some German speakers and a couple speaking some Scandinavian language), we returned to the coach for the beautiful drive to Cahersiveen (pronounced Car-sigh-veen), Co. Kerry, in the breathtaking Ring of Kerry (it’s advertised as the best scenic drive in Europe, I wholeheartedly agree), where we would be staying for the next couple of days.
We first had an introduction to Ireland (one thing I learned was Ireland has 32 counties), the culture, Cahersiveen, and Irish. We also had a scavenger hunt around the town to learn the landmarks and be able to interact a little with the locals by asking them directions. When we were walking around on our scavenger hunt, we went into the Daniel O’Connell church in the center of town – it’s so beautiful and has such a calming and comforting air about, as do all churches. We were then dropped off at our Irish guest houses, basically bed and breakfasts in regular houses run by the nicest couples in the world. Our guest house – the Strand’s End House - was run by Joan, the sweetest mom-ish lady who made us tea and scones and every other little thing that made us feel at home.
The next morning we went out bright and early to cut peat, but not before a traditional Irish breakfast, which includes: two kinds of bacon, a slice of ham, two kinds of sausage, two kinds of meat pudding (one light and one blood pudding), fruit salad, yogurt, pancakes, two types of rolls, coffee or tea, and orange juice. I couldn’t eat that much for dinner, but it was fun to be able to try a bit of everything, and of course it was absolutely delicious. I’m not much for hot breakfasts when at home, but they’re certainly a necessity before facing Ireland’s morning temperatures. But back to the peat digging, which resident peat cutter John kindly showed us how to do. Just for the record, peat is highly compressed organic matter, the precursor to coal and eventually diamonds – in appearance, it’s somewhere between mud and petrified wood. Basically, you have a shovel-like tool, but the metal part is skinnier and much more curved in that you stick into the edge of the peat “shelf” you’re standing on, push the shovel part all the way into the peat, and pull out towards you, getting a nice brick, about a foot and a half long. You throw the brick onto the level above you (about three feet up), where it breaks into a few smaller pieces that you spread around to dry out. After about two weeks (factoring in the almost-constant rain), the peat will have dried and can be packaged and sold. I enjoyed the digging because the scenery was beautiful especially early in the morning and the work had a kind of quiet rhythm that seemed quite in tune with nature. Also, the particular batch we helped dig was going to the elderly in Cahersiveen. While we out in the more rural area, we visited a ringfort, and ancient dwelling where two small stone houses were built surrounded by a ring-shaped wall. Inside the compound, a tunnel led from the fort down to the bay about a mile away for quick escape from warring clans. It’s amazing that something that old is still intact – a feeling I also get when seeing a picture of Stonehenge or the like, and the view was breathtaking from the top of the hill the fort is built on (as well as insanely windy). The view from that hill made me understand a little more why ancient Ireland was a land of warring clans – I could certainly see why people would be extremely protective of land this pristine.
Next up, we returned into town to be split into three groups: one to the local hospital to prepare meals, one to the town park to pull weeds, and the last to the Cahersiveen Youth group to help them brainstorm team building exercises for their fall groups. I was part of the third group, and very much enjoyed the company of the Youth group leaders and thought the games were fun if childish. The one that stays vivid in my mind was not so much a game as a small assignment they gave us after breaking us into groups of about four – we were to come up with the top three rules for keeping order if stranded on a desert island. Our answers were common sense: fairness of tasks, sharing items equally, respect, truthfulness, and open communication. For whatever reason, it really struck me that these simple rules apply exactly the same to any society, from four people on an island to billions of people across Europe or the hundred millions in the United States.
After our volunteer work we ventured over to a local playing field to learn Gaelic football, but the reality of Irish weather soon set in and we were soaked through in about fifteen minutes of kicking the ball around and learning a few serving types. While the more wetness and temperature squeamish like myself took to the covered benches, the very nice young men from the local football association demonstrated a game for us, and the more hardy of the group played another game.
A few rules I somehow picked up: You serve with the heel of your hand (a la volleyball) or kickball style. You can “bounce” while running down the field, equivalent of dribbling, can have no more than one in a row. Soloing is bouncing the ball off the top of your foot while running down the field. When scoring, you receive one point for hitting it above the goal bar with a hand serve, three points for kicking it in the goal.
On a similar note, it seemed to me the Irish are very serious about sports, like Americans. We listened to the Gaelic football game between Cork and Kerry on the coach ride to Dublin, and the coach driver (Kerry) and Adam (Cork) had some very fiery words to say about the game and each other – though all in good fun, of course.
When the rain finally let up to a drizzle, we hurried off back to the town’s main drag to take a quick scenic hike up the hills behind the town. On the way we saw some of the grander houses built gin the town, a lot of the beautiful local flora and fauna, as well as the spot Sigerson Clifford composed his famous song, The Boys of Bar Na Sraide:
Oh, the road that lines the mountains and looks down o'er the sea,In my waking hours or dreaming, it's there I long to be.To meet again those friends I knew when first I came a manWith the boys of bar na sraide who hunted for the wren.
Oh, with cudgels stout we roamed about for to hunt the grey drolin.We searched 'neath every hawthorn bush from Litir to Duneen.We jumped for joy beneath the sky, life held no print or plan,Oh, we boys of bar na sraide who hunted for the wren.
And when the hills of Kerry were bleeding and the rifles were ablazeTo the rebel homes of Kerry the Saxon stranger cameBut the boys who dared the Auxies and who fought the Black & TansWere once boys of bar na sraide who hunted for the wren.
And they are far across the sea where they have gone to stayDeep in the heart of London town or over on BroadwayAnd I am left to sing their deeds and to praise them while I can,Those boys of bar na sraide who hunted for the wren.
Oh, here's a health to them tonight, those boys that fought with meFrom the groves 'round Callan River to the slopes of Mi na TiCon Dalton and Bat Andy and the Sheehans Con and Dan,The boys of bar na sraide who hunted for the wren.
And when the wheel of life runs down and death comes over me,Just lay me down in those green fields between the hill and sea.Just lay me down in those green fields where first I came a manWith the boys of bar na sraide who hunted for the wren.
A little explanation of some of the things mentioned in the song:
The boys of bar na sraide = boys from the top of the street, i.e. the neighborhood boys.Litir, Duneen = Co. Kerry place names.Auxies, Black & Tans = auxilliary British soldiers.Callan River, Mi na Ti = geographical features.
It’s a beautiful song, but even more touching when you’re in the midst of an Irish forest remembering how those men fought to save everything that was dear to them. Further on the trail, we walked to a statue of Daniel O’Connell, the nineteenth century Irish Politician and campaigner for Irish freedom. He was the first Catholic allowed in the House of Commons and was finally able to repeal Union Act of 1801 with peaceful means, starting the Irish down the path to emancipation from Britain.
Our final stop that night was an Irish ceili (or dance), one of my favorite things we did while in Ireland. A full traditional Irish band played for us, and everything they played was beautiful and captivating. The acoustic guitar player was also a vocalist and sang “Galway Girl,” the song I opened this blog with because I thought it was so pretty and passionate. They also, and much to their credit, attempted to teach us three fast-paced and fun Irish dances: Shoo-the-donkey, a waltz, and a couples dance, ‘the Archway.” While I’m not much of a dancer, I had an absolute blast.

Link to my Ireland photos:
http://s755.photobucket.com/albums/xx198/cheath44/IRELAND/