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Heading out to Kilkenny

We’re driving on the left again. And you would not believe these roads.

They are of good quality. And, thankfully, empty as we are taking some scenic, rural routes. But these are narrow, one-lane strips of asphalt and the speed limits reach 100 kilometers per hour. Imagine, maybe, the width of a really wide parking space at home. Drive 60 miles per hour on something like that with brush and stone fences on either side of you.

I think this smile was forced:

But we are on the road. And by we I mean our friend Adam, who I met several years ago while writing a feature story on a World War II relative of his.

And his brand new fiance, Jessica. They just got engaged yesterday. And now she has to put up with us on a road trip she knows nothing about. This was all sprung on her. She has patience and a good sense of humor. We’ll see how long we can test those.

Fun people, fine friends. We’re glad there here.

Here’s our route today:

We’re seeing sights like these. Scroll down through the next several images. We’ll get some more words in here eventually. These are just shots I took out of the window as we drove from Enniskerry to Kilkenny today. I’m told the views only get better.

We checked into our Bed & Breakfast in Kilkenny, which is a town of about 24,000 people when you count the outlying folks. The name derives from the Irish meaning “church of Cainnech.” And Cainnech is Saint Cainnech, of Aghaboe, a 6th century Gaelic abbot, priest and missionary also known as Kenneth or Kenny two or three other names, depending on where you were standing. He is considered one of the Twelve Apostles of Ireland.

Kilkenny was originally the name of the church and the surrounding area later took on the name. The story goes — and it is one of those tales of the time that has a lot of telling and re-telling, so it might not be the most completely accurate, but close nevertheless — that in 597, Cainnech led a Christian army here to wipe out the last of the Druids. This was one of the last parts of Ireland to be converted to Christianity.

A tour was full. A music tour had ceased operation. We were really just winging it tonight anyway.

We ate here this evening, a family-owned joint since 1904. There was a sign of live music, but no actual live music. What to do?

“Get drunk with us,” said the bartender, overhearing our conversation. That wasn’t really on the agenda.

We did eat there. Here was the Irish stew I ordered for dinner. And while there isn’t normally a lot of food on this site — because food photographs just aren’t as interesting as the photographer thinks — I just wanted to tell you how delicious Irish stew is:

Do these look like the faces of two people who just got engaged?

There. That’s better. Our friends are funny, and they’re always blaming one another, in jest, for whatever the most immediate transgression happens to be. It is amusing to sort out the real story. Usually I pick the person who says the least.

We went down the street a way to Kyteler’s Inn, to hear some music. This was the house of Dame Alice Kyteler, a member of a prominent local banking family. She was charged with witchcraft, heresy and suspected in poisoning a few of her husbands in 1323. She’s believed to be the subject of the earliest witchcraft accusations in Ireland. She skipped town, fleeing presumably to England, where she disappeared from history. One of her servants was not so lucky; she was flogged and burned at the stake in 1324.

Happier days today, though. I saw this sign and note it here only to point out that I’m going to look them up, tell them I’m back and demand my cut of the empire. Never mind that I’m not Irish.

We met some nice guys tonight. They were from the outlying areas and had come to town for a bachelor party. Here’s the most normal of the bunch.

This guy has a counterpart in every bar and pub in the world, I’d bet. In your personal space, flirting with the ladies, starting out funny stories that somehow lose their oomph midway through.

But he introduced us to all these guys, including this one, who seemed a bit out of place.

And this guy. He was the priest. He was also coordinating the night’s entertainment. That’s what we were told. We learned he wasn’t a priest, but the story is better that way. It allowed one of the other guys to say “Welcome to Ireland.”

And right about then a guy in a bikini showed up. Presumably the night’s entertainment. Thankfully the music was starting so …

I did not know there were Carnegie Libraries in other parts of the world. Also, I took this photograph at 9:30 at night. We still had an hour of daylight left.

adventures / Friday / Ireland / music / photo / video — Comments Off
21
Jun 13

Welcome to Ireland

Our plane left Heathrow late, after a long run. We ran. Because, you see, the flight attendant announced “Gate 8 E.” We went to this gate. Fifteen minutes before the flight was to leave there were no airline employees, no passengers and no planes.

We were on the only terminal in the free world without departure screens, too. So I walked down aways and found horrifying information. Our flight was actually departing from Gate 80.

English.

So we ran. And then we got on board. I thoroughly made a big show of the entire ordeal. And the plan was late.

But we arrived on time in a funny-how-that-happens way. We landed in Dublin, in what felt like the oldest terminal in the free world. It had screens with departure and arrival times.

We made it through customs, The Yankee going first as always. She answered the questions and I was next. I said to the border agent “Same things she said,” which amused everyone except the weary man working in his weary both.

We got our stamps, though, and then picked up our rental car, a process just as thoroughly devoid of joy and efficiency in every country, it seems. We set out, once again questioning the ability of the GPS to get her there.

It was about here, I think, that we finally changed the GPS voice. We’ve been using an Aussie. We looked for an Irish brogue, but had to settle on an English woman. So the GPS, given to this new personality, must be renamed. I’m sure we’ll figure that out soon enough.

We drive around Dublin on the interstate, which feels new, through countryside that is beautifully rural and undeveloped despite being so very near the city proper. It felt like we drove around the entire city. Mostly because we almost did.

We arrived at our hotel and got checked in. Hey look, this hotel has a television in the bathroom:

Who needs that? Who cares? I have a television in my bathroom.

We went to visit our friends, Adam and Jessica, who are joining us on the trip. Only Jessica didn’t know it. Just a few hours before they’d gotten engaged at a picnic in the gardens of Enniskerry, now they have to have us tag along. She was excited to see us though, so that, happily, went over well.

After a while we looked up, saw the sun and realized it was 9 p.m. And we still had to find dinner. Everything in Enniskerry is closed already. There is a pub in our hotel. Their kitchen had just shut down. But the waiter brought us a room service menu, and four sleepy, hungry people were saved.

Two guys were getting ready to play music a few booths away. We’ve been in Ireland three hours and there’s already a pub, a burger and Irish music.

After a few songs one of the patrons asks “Is it too early for Whiskey in the Jar?” It is never too early for Whiskey in the Jar.

They were fine performers, despite my too-dark photograph and hasty iPhone recording. It was a delicious burger. Our friends, who just flew over from the States today, are happy and exhausted. Tomorrow we set out to drive the bulk of the entire countryside.

For now I’m going to go watch weird Germany game shows. On the television in my bathroom.

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21
Jun 13

The clocks of London

We had a great time walking around in London. I noticed, for whatever reason, that they have a lot of clocks on display. Here are a few of my favorites.

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21
Jun 13

Buckingham Palace

We watched the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace today. The queen was in residence, so we’re basically standing in her driveway. That doesn’t get old, I’m sure.

Also in the driveway is the Victoria Memorial, which was dedicated in 1911 by George V and his first cousin, Wilhelm II of Germany, to their grandmother, Queen Victoria. There is a statue of her in the fountain:

This one is meant to be the Angel of Truth:

This one is meant to be the Angel of Justice:

This one is meant to be the Angel of Charity:

The symbolism of these seems to be lost to Wikipedia, but the top feature is thought to invoke Peace and Victory.

There is a marching band playing at the changing of the guard. They did martial tunes, traditional English songs, a bit of Over There and some Adele.

What you didn’t see in this video is the cavalry. And all cavalry should look like these guys. No one’s storming the gates on them. (Also they got their own police protection, which seemed odd. But this is Britain these days.)

Enjoying one last afternoon tea before we continue our travels.

To the train! To another train! To the airport! To the terminal! To the wrong part of the terminal! To a hike, with luggage, so long that they hang signs that tell you how many more minutes you have to walk!

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20
Jun 13

Church choirs and rock shows

The Yankee did some work. She presented some of her research and it was, easily, the best presentation I saw at the entire conference:

We also went to St. Paul’s Cathedral. This church is the seat of the Bishop of London and head church of the Diocese of London. It sits atop the highest point in the City of London. The original church here dates back to 604.

This church dates to the late 17th century, designed in the English Baroque style by Sir Christopher Wren. Services and tours were going on while we were there. You get the sense that the place never stops humming.

And it is a beautiful place. I’ve been fortunate to see some of the world’s oldest and most beautiful churches. To me, this one is one of the ones you have to see.

And they all have this certain sound, in those soaring ceilings, to the point that you think all of the ancient architects had a similar opinion about what angels singing might sound like, and how they could maybe try to emulate it.

A young choir from Singapore was performing, for about a half hour, when we were there. I don’t want to overstate it, but their voices were singing up and the ceiling was singing down. There was the slightest, most imperceptible delay that held notes and changed the songs. I don’t know what angels in your mind, but that’s what they’d sound like to me. (I tried to record it, but it was all a bit fuzzy because of other ambient noises.)

The vaulting ceilings here have what the tour says are millions of pieces of glass in elaborate mosaics. I wonder who had the job of counting the glass pieces.

Fish and chips! And mushy peas. You can just see them in the corner of the shot. That’s another British staple. They’re good if you like peas. I like peas.

The fish is supposed to come in a newspaper, and so to be authentic this place uses a fake newspaper. It is probably more sanitary, but more expensive. This paper is mimicking a 1940s London paper. There is copy about military governors divvying up Germany.

She plans great trips, and this has been another wonderful one. We’re riding on the Underground here:

We went to see Rock of Ages on the West End. They break the fourth wall. They ad lib. They use jazz hands. It is a rock show, but a love story.

The narrator makes a Waffle House joke. This being London I am the only person in the entire theater that got it. I laughed. No one else laughed. I laughed harder.

It is bawdy. It makes fun of hair bands, rock ‘n’ roll and the 1980s.

Great, funny show.