I don't want to forget. We started walking on Thursday night around 6. We four directed ourselves toward Ireland, via France. We had some things planned out, but generally that which we planned fell through due to the ridiculous French train system which not even the French understand. We intended to spend the first night on the train, which we did, though in the bike rack for most of it, rather than the cars (and still charges reservation fees, of course!) where we played MASH and Rummy and talked. Saturday morning we were in Paris, and held there for a while as we tried to figure out the best alternatives to previously planned routes. We ended up in Cherbourg, a coastal town in Normandy by evening, said a memorare before leaving the trainstation that we would be taken care of - without a reservation and knowing there to be no hostels in the town, we fully expected to be spending the night under a bridge. We walked out the door, across the street, into the first hotel we saw, Hotel de la Gare, and walked in to find the owner just waiting for us, the only room in the hotel left being a four bedroom at hostel prices.
The next day, a saturday, we explored Cherbourg. ("Good morning, beautiful girls") Andrea and I hid our back packs in the eaves of the Ferryport station, because we didn't want to carry them around. We wandered and visited churches and tasted some french food, saw an Art museum and the local library. Mass at St. Trintite. And by evening we boarded the Ferry, The Oscar Wilde. It was much more like the Titanic, to me. Sunday afternoon we landed in Rosslare. Played on the beach. Sneaked four of us into quite nice hotel, and watched a chick-flick. They sang our theme-song for the whole trip: Living on A Prayer.
Monday, on a train to Kilkenny. Castles like weeds in the countryside out the window. Changed trains in Waterford (Jacob I kept seeing you singing Born to be Bachelor - I've come from the county Waterford, near the village of Tramore...), where we stopped a few hours and explored churches and bookstores (encounter with The Man in the Purple suit). In Kilkenny later that day we shopped, looked at castles and watched goldsmiths and met our Motor-mouth-O'Malley three times. Stayed that night in a real Castle in Jenkinstown. Pretty sweet.
Tuesday Headed for New Ross via train. Raining, hard (for the only time that we were in Ireland, which is a miracle in and of itself) Stopped again a bit in Waterford and revisited the bookstore. Arrived in New Ross, ate scones at a cafe, and was picked up by Brian, the owner of the hostel, who drove us the 3 km or so. Lovely little hostel. Fell in love with it and the area. Stayed there three days, soaking it up. Cooking, reading, doing laundry by hand, playing games, and going for walks in the country. Wednesday: toured New Ross's streets churches and church ruins, as well as the Dunbrody Famine ship.
Thursday took a bus ("A Bus!" .... I need to watch Anastasia, apparently) to the coastal town of Duncannon. Aimed to get to the famous Hook head lighthouse, but, though we could see it from there, 13 km away, there was no available transportation, so we were content to stay in Duncannon. Apparently it is one of the oldest lighthouses in the world, back when a lighthouse was a new idea. Started as a bonfire kept alive by monks on the point.
Friday, down to Rosslare again, to meet our ship and play on the beaches all day, since there is nothing else to do there. Sunset was one of the best I have ever seen.
Saturday, on the Ferry until 6:30 pm. Returned to our Hotel de la Gare, and the owner teased us, lent us the same room, and even threw is some ball-point pens to thank us for returning. HOT shower!
Sunday, Mass at St. Trinite again. On the train for home. Passed through Lisieux, just as the Beatification of Louis and Zelie Martin was ending. I was very dissapointed to have missed it by so small a margin. The French train system sucks. We remained on trains or in trainstations for the next 24 hours, missing class because trains ran late. But we made it back safe and sound and with a great and unforgetable experience to ponder for a lifetime.
So impressions of Ireland: 1) It is very small. I guess because everyone knows someone who is of Irish decent, it seems that Ireland should be bigger. It is not. It is about the same size as Austria, which is the same size as Maine, roughly. The towns are very small and village-like. Granted, we never left the counties of Waterford and Wexford, but towns that look like they ought to be very big on the map are not. Irish people are awesome, and very outgoing, very communal, and very Irish looking. I never saw any Irish dancing or much live music, unfortunately, because it is the off-tourist season, but I noticed in many church bulletins ceili dances and live music groups. Also, all the schools are private and parochial, with all the kids wearing uniforms. France is nice if you avoid touristy areas. The French people are much more friendly than I had been warned - maybe I had good luck. The French language is easy enough to understand when read, and completely hopeless to understand when spoken. Impossible. French bread is good but I honestly preferred the Irish buttermilk whole wheat soda bread. French people like ugly dogs.
These pictures are in reverse order, starting from the end of the trip.
Still smiling after 22 hours of trains: Caitlin, Liz, and Whitney and Oscar - the backpacks who had a little French romance.
Lisieux basilica, from the zug. Just as the Beatification Mass was ending. So close and yet so far.
Nuttella Nutts.
A fort that looked like a giant sandcastle. Many naval battles have been fought in Cherbourg over time.
Liz finally had her Irish guiness, half a pint, although not exactly in Ireland (it was an Irish bar on the Ferry) and although the bar-tender had something against her. I don't like Guiness, so I had hard cider, which I love.
My main sustainence for ten days. I figured it out to e
I am sorry there are excessive amounts of picutres that are mostly the same, of this sunset. I was trying to immortalize a million-dollar sunset, and was getting frusrated at the results reflected by my camera, which just couldn't capture the spelndor.
Getting in a quick nap at the ferry station. Caitlin decided to be naughty at take a picture of me. I am probably drooling if you look close enough.
So, this was cool. Rocks in the making, i suppose. Some of the rocks on this part of the beach were rocks, and some of them looked just like rocks, but your feet sank into them - soft clay rolled up by the sea into balls. It was really confusing, and felt at first like something out of Narnia or Through the ooking glass or the Wixard of Oz or such.
A very large (dead) crustacean. That is no small rock he perches on.
Our ship coming into port - returning to fetch four Americans from Ireland.
Caitlin should know better to think that my armpit is going to smell any better than the fish when I have been depraved of a shower for three days!
I saw these starfish out on the rocks during the low tide, and waded out to get them. Later, I replaced them, and later Caitlin reported how she saw them being torn limb from limb by two seagulls. It made me very sad.
another picture of me feet.
lunch on the beach in Rosslare.
The ingedients for stuffed mushrooms was magically left by the Silent Germans Boys. I opened the fridge, saw cheese and bread and mushrooms and garlic and onions, and then started jumping up and down because I knew what could be done with that. We found that stuffed mushrooms do complement Irish Cream quite well.
Our Lady, Star of the Sea, pray for the wanderer, pray for me!
Me. Yes, I took a picture of my shadow. I know, I am a dork.
low tide waters and the cliffs.
This is what happens when you drive your car out on the beach at low tide, then busy yourself with fishing or swimming or what not.
My feet in some mud I found myself in. It actually I think was seagull crap, mostly, but I didn't realize I was in it until it was too late.
I realized in review that I took a lot of pictures of my feet. These were on barnacle-covered rocks it hurt a bit.
The tide is out.
This reminded me of our S. Pottawatomie Rd.
I think we need to make a sign like this to put over Andrew's door, huh, Mary?
It is documented that there are several hundred wrecked ships lying in the harbour at Duncannon. They either wrecked in storms or ran aground in the shallows or were captured and sunk by pirates who were pretty thick in the area.
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