LAST FULL DAY IN CONNEMARA

Sunday, June 5, 2016

Rhubarb!  On the dining table buffet this morning.  I have it, mixed with other fruits and yogurt and Muesli after I gobble up the scrambled eggs with smoked Irish salmon.    Marvelous breakfast on this, my last full day in outdoor Ireland.  It will make me strong for many hours walking the bogs.

Another beautiful day in Ireland.  Not a single drop of rain fell my whole time here.  Disappointing not to use my new purple raincoat.  But more disappointing:  I have had no need for my dancing shoes and skirt.  Unfortunately all the pub dancing happens after 10 PM, when I am in bed.  Drat!

Morning View Leaving the Hotel

I am prepared for a great big day, starting with a fund-raiser for dog and cat rescue.  As soon as I walk in the Letterfrack hall, I see my kind of people and stuff for sale with terrific prices, which I round up when I pay, considering where the money is going.  I would love to buy some books but I can’t afford the extra weight in my suitcase.  I get a couple of light-weight presents and a CD of Irish music.

At 11 AM I stand in front of The Country Store, meeting place for the Conamara Walkabout.  I meet a second family from Vancouver. Some of the same folks I walked with yesterday are here but we have a new leader.  Sinead (pronounced like Shinade) Keane introduces her brother (Conor Keane), who will walk with us and play some music while we’re out on the bogs.   In many ways, this walk is like our Nature Ramble, with many people adding comments from their own knowledge and experience with native plants. 

 
I learn what to do next time I kneel on stinging nettle.  Get some “dock” which frequently grows nearby, and rub it over the burning skin.  Wish I had known that in Inisheer.  My knee burned for two days.  Personally, dock is one of my least favorite plants cause it’s kind of ugly but I like it more now. 

Stinging Nettle

My favorite travel writer is Bill Bryson.  He is disrespectful and funny and likes to walk in the woods.  In his latest book, The Road to Little Dribbling, he walks with a botanist friend who names the wildflowers they see: 

    “…ladies’ bedsore, yellow cowpox, tickle-me-knickers, sneeze, old man’s crack…"
 
Hysterical, but sometimes this is the way it sounds, listening to botanists.

Sitting on a baby hill amidst the daisies, orchids and sundews, looking off at the beautiful countryside, listening to Conor play his button box — what could be better? 

 If you want to see more and hear Conor’s music, click on the 9 minute movie I made: Sunday at Conamara Bog Festival

When our guided walk is over I go to the tearoom for homemade mushroom soup and brown bread.  Then I head on my own walkabout.  While I’m climbing the big hill and bogs, folks pass me speaking French, German, and Italian.

 I see several different orchids:  deep purple (Marsh Orchid, says Sinead), white, and sort of pink/purple.  I am fairly sure they are three different kinds based upon their leaves/stems.

I love finding surprises in the bogs but about 4:30 PM I head for Molly’s where a famous Connemara musician will perform.

I go up to the bar and say, “The signs says he’ll start playing at 5 o’clock.”

“Well, it won’t be until 5:30.  It’s Irish time.”

“So let me buy something with no alcohol since I’ll have to drink it for the next two hours and don’t want to end up under the table.”

“What’s wrong with ending up under the table?” asks a nearby patron.  A youngish dark-haired guy.

“I’d rather dance on the table then end up under the table,” I say.  They all laugh.  “Do you have something tasty and local?”

“Nope.  But I have something tasty and expensive.”  He is right on both counts.

While I watch the musician’s assistant spend a full 30 minutes setting up the sound system, everyone else in the bar is watching TV.  Some sort of sports game.  I assume it is their version of football until I see the thing they use to pass the ball.  Then I think it might be lacrosse. 

I ask a neighbor who gazes intensely at the screen.  “What are they playing?”

“I have no idea!” 

So I turn around and ask the other 27 people in the bar, “What are they playing?”

“Hurling,” they shout at me. 

“Curling?”

“No, hurling!”    Whatever the heck that is.

Ireland beat the U.S. by a year or two in proclaiming no smoking in bars.   I remember being stunned when I read about it.   Folks at Molly’s go out to the porch to smoke.  But look how much cigarettes cost (about $13).

For dinner I have two desserts.  Jeez, I love vacations.   While I am waiting for a taxi (to avoid dying on the road), I root around The Country Store.  The Irish Times has a 16 page memorial section on Muhammad Ali.  I wonder why, until I learn he had a relative from Ennis and came back here for a visit where he was treated like a king.

 
When I return to Rosleague Manor, I make a pilgrimage to see their Tamworth pigs for the sake of my friend, Mary Elizabeth.  The hotel dog escorts me to the pigs.  And then back.  Their pigs root around, clearing the soil.  Employee pigs.

Follow me to the see the pigs

Follow me back to the hotel

I finish packing at 10 PM.   The sky is so light I take a photo of the view out my window. 

Kitchen garden for the hotel is in the back.  They call it a "tunnel."

After an early breakfast tomorrow, Andrew will drive me to the bus “station” in Letterfrack.  I leave behind the three used t-shirts I brought for just this purpose.  It makes room for the extra items I got at the sale and the national park.  Tomorrow is all day transportation.  I set the alarm for 5 AM.

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EVENTFUL TRAVELS

LEAVING INISHEER

After a full Thursday June 3 on Inisheer, I take evening-sun photos of the poppies in front of the South Aran Restaurant.  And pictures of Maria and Enda serving their delicious dinners.  (They won’t pose.)

I set three alarms so I’ll wake up on time Friday morning but wake up at 5 AM on my own.  I will miss this beautiful place.  At breakfast Maria asks whether I have heard the cuckoo.  “Yes, on three different days but I never saw it.”  She assures me that they’re hard to find.

Both Maria and Enda drive me to the dock after breakfast.  “To be sure you actually leave,” says Enda grinning wickedly.  The ferry arrives at 8 AM.  It’s a fun ride from Inisheer to Rosaveal because of high wind and waves.  

Rosaveal Ferry Landing

ON THE WAY TO CONNEMARA:  A Challenge

When I get off the boat, I ask a crew member where to catch the bus to Galway.  He mutters something I barely comprehend and waves vaguely at a space above the exit ramp.  I wander aimlessly up there, watching a bus pull out.  MY bus, as it turns out.  I learn this when I finally locate an office where a short, stern woman blames me for missing the bus.   “I saw your bus,” she says with a disapproving frown.  [If I were Bill Bryson I would write the choice words I said to myself.]    

Another bus will come in 45 minutes.  This is my first misconnection.   It is a bit unnerving.  I feel unsure of myself.  During the entire day I check and re-check pieces of paper, the location of my wallet, my passport, my camera, my suitcase.

I am so glad to find a couple who also missed the bus because she needed a stop in the bathroom.  We console each other and talk a bit, sitting on the outdoor bench.  The wife wears a raincoat and sits very compactly with her purse held firmly in her lap.  Her husband is jovial and kind to me.   She normally takes the nine minute flight to Galway from the Aran Islands.  “But this time I’m with my  husband.”  (What does that mean?)  

The bus driver had to get special permission to drive the three of us east to Galway.  He was originally going to Spiddle.  I thank him profusely.  

Sign inside the bus.

Once in Galway, the couple and I exchange handshakes and well wishes.  I need to ask three different people to help me find the next bus terminal — the one where the bus will take me west to Letterfrack. So I successfully came east to Galway and am now about to go west to Connemara.

My bus will leave at 1600 hours.  Somewhat undone by this morning’s travel shenanigans, my brain is confused about what 1600 hours means.  I think it means 1:00 PM.  Since it really means 4:00 PM, I have a few hours to kill on the streets of Galway. 

This sign would never appear in the U.S.  Half of us do not know what "commencing" means.

Human signpost guy does it the easy way.

Both Irish and English wording is on all street signs

I’m lugging my big, black suitcase on cobblestones and up/down curbs.  It gets heavier every 15 minutes so I eventually go back to the terminal to sit.  

Returning an hour early to the terminal, I read my book, “Bear in the Backseat.”  It is by a Smokies forest ranger so I will give it to someone at the Connemara National Park.  I share some dark chocolate with an old Irish guy sitting next to me.  We kind of converse but I understand only half of what he says.  I just nod my head and say “hmmm.”

Lots of folks want to get on the bus.  The driver asks first for people who had reservations (which I have), and he loads my suitcase into the compartment near the tires.  He has my name on a list, which is so reassuring. 

 “I understand you pass right in front of Rosleague Manor Hotel in Letterfrack.  Could you let me off there?”

“Yup, if you remind me when we get closer.”  My elderly (or is she my age?) bus neighbor says she’ll let me know when it’s time.  She and I sit right up front.  She can get carsick and bemoans the bumpiness of the roads.  “I came to Galway to shop for clothes but got so tired from the trip I didn’t have the energy to try them on.”  She used to live in Letterfrack but had to move to Clifton, a much bigger town, because of better services.

Here are a bunch of roadside photos.

What is "Master Bespoke Tailor?"

Fishing in a Galway river.

What kind of store sells beer, books, eggs, marble and wool?

I love the sheep and cows along the road.  We pass the Twelve Bens (a.k.a. Twelve Pins), a bunch of low mountains.  The tallest is about 2400 feet high.  In several fields I see peat cut for fuel set out in geometric piles.

The roads in Ireland are so very narrow.  I remember being the driver when Marguerite, Roseann, Judy and I toured western Ireland in 2012.  It was terrifying.  I spent time shrieking, shouting for directions, panicking in general, and even stopping the car completely when lorries and buses got close.   Not only is your lane skinny, but the steering wheel is on the wrong side of the car and the car is on the wrong side of the road.  

This driver is a professional, so he skips the screaming.  But when he and another big bus approach each other they each reduce speed to about 10 mph.  I get a photo of the other bus’s rear view mirror, which is six inches away from “my” guy’s mirror.  The opposing driver is grinning!

Finally we come to the ferry landing for Inishbofin, the last stop before we approach Letterfrack.

My driver lets me off right in front of the hotel.  A younger (than I am) woman from Belgium offers to help me with the suitcase as we walk up the hill.   “Thanks, (pant, pant), but I can handle it (pant, pant).”

Andrew welcomes me and carries my bag up to the second floor.  [NOTE to people with mobility deficits:  be sure to check that your hotel or B&B has either an elevator or rooms on the first floor.  It is not a “given” in Europe.  I met a couple who used airbnb and discovered their room was on the fourth floor without an elevator! ]  

The hotel is like an antique maiden aunt with old lamps and furnishings.   Bathroom fixtures are fancy, though.  

 The dining room is elegant. I am starving, having had only breakfast and snacks.  Earlier, Andrew asked whether I would like dinner at the first setting, which is 7 PM.  “Oh yes,” I said, although I knew nothing about what they would serve.

I go into shock when I open the menu.   The least amount I can spend is 36 Euros, which entitles me to two different main items.  Yikes!   Oh well, consider it a birthday treat.   I order an Aran Island crab dish and a tasty, well-prepared local fish with mixed vegetables.  The view out the window captures me, as do the antique furnishings.  I will focus on the deliciousness of the food and the beautiful view — not the high price.

Candle at an antique mirror

After dinner I walk down to the bay, enjoying it until the midges start biting. 

When I return to the hotel, a French couple drive up in their fancy sport car.  THEY belong here.  I am not sure about me.  Some young people play “stick” with the friendly hotel dog.

SATURDAY AT THE BOG FESTIVAL

The next morning I am the first one to arrive at the 8 AM breakfast, which is marvelous!  And comes “free” with the room.  

Fruits, cereals, breads on the table.

I order scrambled eggs and Irish Smoked Salmon

Andrew has agreed to drive me to the park for the Bog Festival.  When he goes for his car “up at the house” I wait in front, watching the French couple tool off on their next driving adventure.

It is only one km (less than a mile) to the Connemara National Park in Letterfrack.  But Andrew warns, “You don’t want to walk along this road.  It is too narrow and winds around too tightly to be safe.”  He says if I call the hotel, they may have someone who could pick me up later; there is a taxi but it is costly.

I am very excited to be at the Conamara Bog Festival.  I go on a nature walk, poetry-in-the-park, a bit of a walk through the village, and hear some Irish musicians at Molly's.  Here is my 12 minute movie about Saturday.   Just click on it.    Saturday at the Conamara Bog Festival

I buy some mementos at the National Park office and gift shop.  The folks behind the counter love the “Bear in my Back Seat” book I gave them earlier in the day.  One woman has begun reading it already and loves it.

At a village restaurant, I have a most wonderful and inexpensive (7 Euros) dinner: a jam-packed seafood chowder with two slices of Irish brown bread.  

I begin walking home because I do not have numbers for the hotel or taxi in my phone.  But how bad can it be?  The first little bit is comfortable, with even a sidewalk.  The next bit is a dirt pathway next to the road, with a big yellow line showing drivers not to hit me.  Then the dirt pathway disappears.  I have to walk in the street.

I am too scared to take pictures; I just want to get home.  A three foot high stone wall is on both sides of the road.  Could I leap up on it if I need to?  Nope.  Better switch to the other side of the street because oncoming cars won’t be able to see me as they make the severe turn.  And now, back to the other side because the road loops the other way.  I switch sides seven times.  As cars approach I swing my shopping bag like a lantern so they will notice me.

Finally I see the Welcome to Letterfrack and the Hotel signs.  Thank God!  And that’s when I nearly get hit — as I cross the street right in front of the driveway.  Do I not look carefully enough?  Is he going too fast at a blind spot?  Don’t know but I sure am happy to be climbing up the hill to my hotel.  I promise myself:  never again!

I sleep well after planning Sunday’s adventures.

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