Ireland, Part One: Dublin, Kilkenny, and Dingle

In a country known for its hospitality, I am still pleasantly surprised by the affable, chatty Irishperson.  From taxi drivers to people you encounter by chance, they have a way of being charming yet still a little smart aleckie that I aspire to.  Highlights of Dublin were an incredible historied and well curated bookstore (Hodges & Figgis, even the name sounds august, doesn't it?), an outstanding scone at Queen of Tarts, and the Little Museum of Dublin, where they featured a room full of U2 memorabilia and other rooms told the story of their venerable newspaper, the Irish Times, and much other history focused.  I enjoyed the Guinness storeroom because of S’s enthusiasm for the product, and was smitten with the beauty of their many parks.  We took a walk through Merrion Square, a green space that rivaled any for its choice ancient plantings, including trees that stopped me in my wet shoes.

Take away:  this weather is not to be taken lightly, nor is it constant.  Hope for sun, count on rain, and ignore whatever is beyond your control, which is all the weather.

Kilkenny:  “There once were 2 cats from Kilkenny….”  I never got tired of working that into the conversation, but S did not share my enthusiasm for the oft-heard limerick.  Add to that the fact that I saw 2 cats under a car as soon as I hit the town, and it was destiny.  The castle was pretty cool as castles go, but the definite highlight was the farmer’s market going on outside its gates, and even cooler, an incredible rose garden behind the castle that rivaled anywhere I’ve seen roses grow.  I guess all that rain does some good, but I didn’t see any signs of the normal foliage disease that accompanies high precipitation.  Must be the luck of the Irish, because those roses were “deadly” in the vernacular of the Irish. Here is a parade of the best of the best roses.

On the way to Dingle we stopped off at the Rock of Cashel, another historic site, and had a great tour guide to show us around the very blustery hill and ruins.  Beautiful graveyard!

Dingle:  Jaw-dropping scenery, intense wind, cold, and rain, terrible weather, but still lovely to hike outside when it’s not too rainy.  Great trad music, long hikes in the most beautiful of settings, peaceful, friendly.  Here’s an attempt at a description of the pub scene there.

We were tipped off my our incredibly helpful hostess, Barbara from Milestone House, that the best “trad” (traditional music) happening in Dingle that evening was an early session (Hurrah!) at Courthouse Pub at 5:30.  We were to arrive at 5:00 to get a seat.  We arrived around 5:10, and the pub was empty except for the owner/barkeep.  When S asked about the beers on tap, he got quite an expansive review of each of the 6 beers, and then was guided to a decision.  No hurry and lots of encouragement from the owner.  We got a ringside seat for the musicians, who were having some business in the back (read:  beer).  Soon enough the place started to fill up, particularly with a “hen party” of some 8-9 ladies who were celebrating the birthday of one of their posse.  They squeezed in in a tight circle in front of us and clucked away.  The musicians appeared about ready to start, but no hurry there, either.  There was some disparity in what the hostess said the start time was, what the barkeep said, and what the musicians told some people when they came in, but no matter, everyone was happy with an approximation. There was a bar dog, a Jack Russell terrier, who politely strolled between groups in the pub, occasionally begging at the bar, or greeting any newcomers. Even the dog was friendly, what?

Just as it appeared they might start a kind-looking happy lady with wispy white hair wearing an apron blew in with a large grin and a larger trophy and red ribbon, exclaiming she’d won the bake-off for the area for her scones.  There were hurrahs all around. She had a plate of scones in the other hand for the band, who promptly put down their instruments, buttered and jammed the 6-7 scones and passed them to the hen party as well as themselves and enjoyed a snack, washed down with more beer.  The lady swept back out and returned with some sponge cake tucked into her apron to keep it warm, destined for a couple of women at the bar she knew.  Oh how I wished I were her friend at that moment, because the appearance and the smell was brilliant. Abba grabbed her card from someone at the bar (that’s my girl!) and when I asked our hostess about her, I learned she was a very accomplished visual artist as well, and was directed to a large painting of the Great Blasket Island above her mantel.  The hostess also filled me in on the woman’s life story and woes, gratis mind you.  I wanted even more to go to her café and gallery but we had to leave early for Galway, so there’s another reason to return to Dingle.  The whole pub scene could have as easily taken place in someone’s home, it was that familiar.  Oh, we also had an American couple sit beside us and we respected each other’s privacy, not wanting to do the “What state are you from” blah blah blah, but listen to the great music, but eventually she asked me a question and when she and her husband found out we were from Iowa City originally, they shared that they, too, had once lived in Iowa City, and she was related to about everyone in town.  We knew many people in common. It doesn’t even impress me anymore when these things happen; the world is just one big small town sometimes!  Dingle pictures here:  the weather did not cooperate for optimal photos, but the scenery is completely stunning.