The Germans, so quietly eating breakfast until I greeted them with a hearty "Guten morgan" then we got the story about their twenty years of cycling through Ireland for a month every summer. Twenty years! They must be crazy. The two American girls came down to breakfast, they had cycled the 30KM over from Killarney yesterday and it about killed them. "Uphill the whole way." They called around and found someone last night to take them and their bikes back today.
The sun is coming in the big window in our room, the hills in the distance are glowing soft green, and the huge tree out front spreads its arms wide, inviting us to sit in the shade. The church bells toll for mass, the sheep baaa and a cooling breeze drifts through the window. I can feel the rocks standing warm, impassively marking time in Kenmare Stone Circle. They say it is our time to move on.
WeeKa is getting thirsty, so we top him off and head to Cork, through the hills on winding roads; cruising tunnels of trees, then plunging blindly into one lane rock tunnels through the rocky shoulders of the mountainside. We passed through cute, colorful town after cute, colorful town; in fact, if you want to see Ireland at its cutest I'd suggest a drive on A71 along the coast, Kenmare to Cork. As we got further along it got cloudy and cool, looks like our streak of hot sunny days has ended. At least it isn't raining
We had no idea where we were going in Cork, and followed some Gaelic signs to what we thought was going to be the Cork Town Center but in fact turned out to be the Cork Jail. The old historic jail. So we sat for a minute deciding what to do when a lady came up and offered us two free tickets to tour the jail. Her teens inability to get out of bed by 11:00 was our good luck. It was fun to visit the jail, exciting to think about being flogged for drunkenness, or kept in a dark cell for years for prostitution or perhaps failing to pay the electric bill (at home they merely cut the power and then place liens on your home while they work to evict you... from the home that you own outright). I tried to make history "come alive" for Gail by locking her in a cell, but she'd have none of it. So, we scammed up a map of Cork and cruised in to look around before committing to parking fees and walking. Cork itself seems old, tired, worn down, with a greenish river running through town to dump into Cork Bay. We decided to just move on.
We had a little trouble finding our way out of Cork, but eventually we were on the road headed to Cobh, famous as the last place the Titanic stopped before it stopped again in Iceberg Alley. Cobh is another cute, colored town, though a little more dramatic with the big cathedral perched high on a cliff. John F. Kennedy Park down on the waterfront was overflowing with flowers, across the street was a square with the Lusitania shipwreck memorial. There is a Titanic museum, Titanic plaques all around, and the Titanic Bar and Grill. I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, so we decided to stop in for a light lunch of smoked seafood chowder, vegetable soup, and a glass of wine. The soups were perfect on this cool grey day.
We had to retrace our steps back to Cork then south to our town of the night, Kinsale. Cork is the big tourist town around here, God only knows why (because Lord sure doesn't know) but the residents of Cork go to Kinsale for a nice break. Kinsale is set up around a U shaped harbour, and is full of the requisite colored houses, ship - themed gift shops and Irish cuteness we are getting used to. Our guesthouse is also a bakery. We are hoping for a great breakfast. The owner is the funny sort of older lady you love to be around; while I was checking in with her daughter (who is about my age) she came in looking for something, put her hands on my hips and slid me over like a chair, found the thing she wanted, then moved me back into place. I paid the €80 for the room, and she insisted on giving me €5 back.
"Tom tells everybody it's eighty, but it's really seventy-five." she explained. "Thanks for paying up front. The electricity will be turned off when you return." We had a laugh, she hugged Gail, complained about men and their lack of wanting to shop, then reminded us, as we were leaving, to be sure to eat a lot for dinner. "Then I don't have to feed you as much!" And we all laughed.
Lovely. Brilliant, she is.
It didn't take long to walk the harbour and the three streets of the town, and so we ended up in a great corner window seat at Apèritif, a wine and tapas bistro. We spent a nice couple hours people watching as we drank a nice bottle of wine and tried out things like (First round) Boyne Valley blue cheese gnocchi, and a Rustic bread board with tomato chutney, sun blushed tomatoes, goats boilie and roasted red pepper humus. Second round: (Ed only) flash fried king prawns, bok choi toasted sesame vegetables with sweet soy reduction. Round three: cod goujons (like fish and chips with an Irish name and light breading). Nice light dinner of little foods, spread out over two and a half hours... time to pub hop! Our fingers crossed for some good trad music, we walked across the street to The Silent Banjo and struck gold. It's hard to describe exactly what happened next, but here goes:
It's about 22:00. Accordion music, light, and a couple people spill out of the pub onto the dusky, almost-night streets. I push in, out of curiosity, and there is a little band playing trad; a girl fiddling, guys on guitar, banjo and accordion, all about twenty years old, gathered around a table with a blonde girl sitting in the midst, keeping time. I spotted an open place against the wall opposite, and I'm not sure if I stumbled and did a quick-step shuffle, or perhaps Gail and I just look so young and energetic, but we no sooner got to the wall when the blonde came over with a huge smile and asked if we were the Irish dancers? We laughed (Baby, if you saw me dance, you wouldn't be asking.) and after a real quick introduction she was teaching Gail the steps. Well, that didn't go too far, but they were having a good conversation, long enough for her to lose her seat. OK. So a table in the corner opened up, and the people leaving gave us the stools, and the blonde returned to reclaim her seat. Gail and I decided to stay and enjoy the music, so I grabbed us a beer and glass of wine. We were talking about how nice the girl was, and Gail said, "I wanted to ask her..." so I went over to her and said, "hey, we're on, like, this long trip, and my wife would like some girl talk time, I mean, if you don't mind?" And she smiled really big and said, "OK" and went over to my stool.
So I took her seat to save it for her, and so here I am, for the next hour or more, sitting right with the band, talking with them between songs. Meanwhile, Gail is back in the corner just having a great time with her new friend. It is so interesting to watch the group play, and how they cue off each other, and when the accordion player stepped it up man did they get on a roll. They usually play together as a group, travel to the different pubs, learn the traditional songs growing up but then improvise during the playing. I got along well with the guitar player, he asked if I play (offering me his guitar); I said no, but I wish my son was here because he fiddles, plays guitar, drums and all by ear... I was thinking of Dennis, my road trip buddy, how he would eat this up. They were interested in California, and our trip... somewhere along the line I bought them a round of drinks as they were out, and another for Gail and her friend. Gail, in the meantime, was finding out about the girl, who is from the midlands and friends with the accordion player. She plays too (and in fact played a number or two later in the evening).
It was just a real great time, I mean, I could "feel" the music. Anyway, we eventually traded seats back and if that had been the end of it, well it would have been a fantastic night. But as we sat and started to catch each other up on the news, the guy, then the lady behind us started talking with us. Locals. Interested in California.
"I have been in California," says the man. "San Francisco, Yosemite, Los Angeles, Las Vegas and the Grand Canyon. It is such a beautiful state." I agree. But the lady knows about California, even where Redding is. She lived in the US for two years, eventually working as a CDF firefighter, and she loved it. "I'd like to go back some day." So I wondered if she was working in forestry now? "No, forestry is so boring over here..." and we went on to talk about how different National Parks are in Europe vs. the US, how forests are managed differently, and so on. Yea, so what are you doing now? She is a teacher, different age kids every year, whatever she is assigned. She loves teaching, it is not boring. "Tell me, is it true? That many teachers in the US work a second job?" Oh yes, I tell her, in fact I work a couple extra jobs. But it is very common. She shakes her head, throws back a swig of beer. "I can't imagine working more than I do with the children. We are paid very well... we have heard about this and none of us can imagine it, working a second job. Why don't they pay you in the US?" and I did not have a good answer for her. The thing to remember here is that this is a teacher, in a country that has implemented austerity measures imposed by the IMF and EU, so government spending is way down, and she is wondering why I am so poorly paid in comparison to her.
More interesting comments: They spend more time in the primary grades teaching the Irish Language than they spend teaching maths. The old people use Irish, but young people (our age, say 50 and under) never use it after school. They also spend fifteen minutes a day teaching religion. I asked if it was a mix of religions or what; no, it is the official state sponsored Church of Ireland (Anglican-Catholic mix). Somehow I do not think this would sit well at all with the people who want "god brought back in school" in the US. Interesting.
Well, I went to the loo, and when I returned Walter and Nora were sharing the table with us. They live just out of town, she is s nurse and needed to get into work at 5:00 next morning, but Walter was very interested in California. Then he confided in us: Obama is Irish! Big smile. This is a big joke in Ireland, they like to claim him as O'Bama. Anyway he went on to say how the Irish love Obama, how he has worked to restore the world's confidence in the US, and how he and the Democrats really respect others in the world and keep their promises. Then he went in a tirade about "When you put the Republicans in power..." and the lack of respect and other issues he saw. I won't go into detail, but it was a pretty long list. It is so interesting to hear, once again, the foreign view of America, and it is not always as flattering as we like to think. I hate to say it, but most of the people we meet are much more in touch with American issues, and worldwide politics in general, than we are.
Quick: who is the current British Prime Minister? If you don't know even that, you don't know the biggest ally of the US. (As a side note, if you don't like this discussion, take it up with Walter. You know where to find him. I am the listener and reporter.)
Well, the band wrapped up around midnight, there were hugs all around. Walter and Nora slipped off home, Gail and I finished our drinks and watched the bar close, the lights go off, and we helped clean up a little before thanking them for a great evening. It actually felt a little sad, a little lonely to walk home alone, just the two of us in the dark streets, quiet along the harbour.