My Amazing Week!

Our cottage in the Galty Mountains

I’m home. It feels good, but at the same time it is difficult to face reality after such a perfect adventure. Our last week was filled with more castles, more magic, and more scenic landscapes. The highlights were kissing the Blarney Stone, visiting the cliffs of Moher, and staying in a delightful cottage in the Galty mountains near a wee village called Skeheenarinky. (I didn't make that up! It's the real name.)

The Cliffs of Moher

The highlight on Monday was a visit to the Rock of Cashel, an ancient fortified cathedral with hints of the once ornate and magnificent building still visible. Tuesday was a long day that started early with a drive to the Cliffs of Moher, then a drive to Ballyvaughn which revealed a very different look to Ireland with its stark stone mountains of gray rock. From there we went on to a quaint folk park at Bunratty castle. The reconstructed village around the old castle had homes from all around Ireland and gave us a good feel for the history of the living conditions of the people.

One of the things I’ve been struck with on this trip is how people throughout time have been searching for God and trying in their own ways to worship Him. Too often we learn about and talk about the people who misused religion for their own purposes or to get gain, but the average man has been honestly seeking and their sincerity and desire is evident in the things they left behind. A touching example of what I’m trying to explain occurred while at Bunratty. One of the features of Bunratty is an old country church and as I left the building I passed a woman holding the hand of a toddler going into the church and as she stepped over the threshold she crossed herself. I was touched by her reverence. In this historical setting—in a church no longer used for religious purposes but for educational and entertainment—she honored the Person the building was intended to honor.

The Irish Night at Bunratty

That night D8 (she was an incredible tour guide!) had arranged for us to attend a traditional Irish night at the Bunratty corn barn which was delightful (another understatement!). We were served dinner by the entertainers. Most people had traditional Irish stew, but I had a vegetable tart which melted in my mouth and lingered so that if I close my eyes and concentrate I can still taste it. Between courses and after the dinner, the waiters and waitresses performed traditional Irish songs and dances. One of the dancers was the European National Dance Champion and they were all very talented. We laughed, sang along, and enjoyed every minute.

Me kissing the Blarney Stone

We didn’t get back to our cottage until midnight and so Wednesday we slept in a bit and then headed for Cork where we kissed the Blarney Stone—something I’ve heard about all my life yet knew nothing about. The stone is the top stone of a castle window (Blarney Castle) and is about four or five stories above ground! You slide under it, upside down, and kiss it in order to be blessed with the gift of eloquence. As I dangled upside down and backwards and saw the earth far below me I wondered who in the world had made up all this malarkey! Getting back up was the hard part. Dizzy is an understatement, but I survived!

The wee spot of light defines the B. Stone.

We returned to Cahir, which is the nearest village to where we are staying and wanted to find a place to have traditional fish and chips. When we asked a policeman where there were any, he laughed at us and pointed out the two best places to eat—one an Italian restaurant and the other in the old Chair hotel. We did finally find someplace that sold fish and chips, but it was served to us by a Moldavian who spoke broken English with a heavy accent. So much for cultural distinctiveness. They used to say the US was a melting pot, but now the whole world has become a melting pot.

Thursday we saw the local sights, a fascinating cave, Cahir castle, and a Swiss cottage. Friday D8 Carl and I went on to Dublin to see Newgrange and the book of Kells at Trinity College, which I’ve already told you about.

As I’ve said over and over, this has been a dream come true. I’ve wanted to see Ireland since I was a little girl reading about leprechauns and now I’ve seen it. The surprising thing is that most things I dream about for years like that turn out to be a disappointment—less than the dreams. But Ireland exceeded my expectations. I’ve learned so much (even more about living in Truth which I’ll share later) and enjoyed every moment. I hope all of your dreams come true in the same way! It is sad to see this come to an end, but as the Irish say, “All happy endings are beginnings as well."

Another Amazing Day

We slept in a little this morning because everyone is tired. The children have been amazingly good. They've enjoyed the places we've been, but they don't like the long hours in the car to get there. So this morning we took it easy and then drove just a few miles to the Ulster Folk and Transport Museum. We started in the Folk Museum and if I'd known what all was there I would have arrived sooner. The place is a village of homes brought in to preserve the daily history and culture of Ireland. While there D8 learned some Irish dancing and we all got a taste of "olden days."

The oldest home was built in the early 1600s and the latest was a bank managers home from 1920s. Farm homes, tract homes, merchant shops, print shops, weigh stations, weaver shops, basket makers, black smiths, you name it and it was there. I tasted soda bread made by a period costumed woman over an open fire, and spent awhile talking to another woman in a tract house that had all the "modern" conveniences of her day which included a tap that brought water right into the house and a gas meter that you put coins into and it gave you gas to use for gas lights and a hot plate. It is easy to see why the Irish have a mythology dancing with leprechauns and little people. Everything here was and is small or as they say,"wee."

It rained all day, but it was more of a constant misting which made me cold so Mr. J and I had low tea at the Tea Shop before we left which consisted of a delicious pot of peppermint tea. That helped warm me and we were ready for the Transport museum. While Mr. J found out how to get out of the village, I bought toffee at the corner candy shop for the kids. The only problem is that the Transport Museum was about to close so we hurriedly walked through the first building of trolleys, cars, and bicycles, but never saw the airplane, train, and Titanic exhibit. Since the Titanic was built here in Belfast I'm sure the exhibit was wonderful, but we keep running out of time everywhere we go .

With all the museums now closed, Mr. J and I drove to Crawfordsburn, a quaint village that many writers have frequented. Bunyan, Tennyson, and C. S. Lewis have all stayed there at the Old Inn part of which was built in the early 1600s and still sports a thatched roof. Walking into the interior is a walk into the 1800s--dim lights, overstuffed furniture, dark wood paneling, and rich floral carpeting. To say I immediately fell in love with the little, winding village is an understatement and there aren't even words to express the magic of the Old Inn. One room was set up for low tea and Carl took my picture sitting in one of the couches.

Next we drove into Belfast and found Little Lea, the home Lewis lived in when he was a boy. The home is privately owned and from all the fences, hedges, and forest around the home it is obvious the current owners don't want anyone intruding, but we did get a picture of me at the front gate. The home is large and impressive and beautifully kept. It is difficult to believe that it is over a hundred years old. A delightful surprise was finding that just four-tenths of a mile from Little Lea is the Holywood ward--a place where Mr. J attended missionary meetings and baptisms when on his mission.

Tomorrow we go to Church at the meeting house in Cave Hill where Mr. J served and then head south where we will spend the rest of our trip. So next time you hear from me I'll be in Cahir (prounounced care).

I just have to say before I close, "Dreams really do come true!!!"

Our Day on the Antrim Coast

Today we had sun beautiful sun lighting our way along the Antrim coast. We escaped the highways today and followed the coast along the north shore where the rolling green hills meet the Atlantic Ocean. To start our adventures we crossed the rope bridge at Carrick-a-Rede (It means "rock in the road."). The bridge dangles 30 meters above crystal clear waters and connects the land to the tiny Carrick Island. For 350 years fishermen have erected bridges here to catch fish during the salmon season. Bad foot and all I managed to make the trek across! The view from the bridge includes glimpses of Scotland and Rathlin Island.

After the long hike to and across the bridge, we were ready for lunch and found an amazing old inn and restaurant in Bushmills that we had been told had delicious food. We were not disappointed. I don't know how old the building, but it was hundreds of years old and full of quaint twists and turns. I had a vegetarian lasagna made out of butternut squash and artichoke hearts layered between thin sheets of pasta that was delightful mostly because of the butter and vinegar sauce melted over it and sprinkled with pepitas.

From there we went to the famous Giant's Causeway where mythology tells us Finn McCool outsmarted the Scottish giant Benandonner. It is easy to see how such an amazing place inspired delightful stories. Millions of hexagonal rocks nested neatly together. We climbed over them, on them, and through them until we felt right at home like part of Finn McCool's family.

After the long hike out of the causeway, we rode over to Portstewart which Mr J and his companion opened up to missionary work many long years ago. Now, mind you, for 43 years I've heard stories of how hard missionary work was in Ireland. But this trip has ended all pity I ever offered him. First we saw the hotel he lived in for seven months, and yesterday we saw the resort he "labored" in. The place is beautiful and his flat was right on the coast. I mean, walk out the front door, turn left and in ten steps you are on an Atlantic Ocean beach. (The picture below is taken about 50 feet from his front door!) He did tell us stories of months spent petitioning the city for a place to hold Church meetings and of constantly being rejected. But I'm no longer feeling sorry for him. Portstewart is beautiful.

After seeing his "digs" we went around the corner and found a children's park which the grandkids enjoyed and then we went back down the coastal road to see the 12 century castle at Dunluce. It was closed by then, but it doesn't get dark here until a little after 10:00 pm so we stopped for pictures over the wall and then continued to follow the incredibly beautiful coastal road home. We didn't get there until after midnight. It was a very full day, but full of adventure and fun.

Londonderry/Derry

Today started out drizzly, but by the time we got to Londonderry the sun shone bright—not warm but sunny—which made for a very pleasant day. We traveled a scenic route that took us through the country. Nothing in Northern Ireland is flat. You are either going up hill or down which means there are always rolling hills above you or below you. The hills look like God laid down a giant patchwork guilt with the patches bordered by dark green ( hedges) and filled with lighter green fields dotted with grazing sheep and cows sitting on the hills watching us go by.

Londonderry is what the city is called in the North, but in the Republic it is called Derry, and the fight about the name seems to symbolize all the contention. Coming north the other day from Dublin all the direction signs read “Derry.” In many places the city is written as Londonderry/Derry, and here in the North on almost all the mileage signs, the “London” part of the word had been spray painted over so that all that was left of the name was “derry.” The fight over what to call the city caused one DJ to suggest they call it Stroke. That didn’t make much sense to me until I learned that what we call a backslash is to the Irish a stroke.

Ancient Londonderry was a walled city and the wall still stands. We walked atop the wall around the city to get a feel for the place and stopped in a small cathedral, St. Augustine’s, just off the wall. As I walked in there was a recording of bagpipes playing, “Amazing Grace” my all time favorite hymn which I want played at my graveside on bagpipes! It was a magical moment. St. Augustine’s was built in the 13th century and had been ruined and restored and rebuilt over the years and is now beautifully maintained. While there we found out about a historical play that would begin in forty-five minutes at another cathedral. So we walked on around the wall until we came to the big cathedral St. Columb’s, built in 1633. It was being refurbished and covered with scaffolding; the inside was also half shut off for workmen, but what we saw was beautiful. The wife of one of the bishops who presided there is the author of the hymn, “There is a Green Hill Far Away.” The words were inspired by the green hills surrounding Londonderry that made her think about of Calvary.

In 1748 John Newton was caught in an Atlantic storm and shipwrecked but miraculously survived which caused him to give up slave trading. While his ship was being repaired he went hunting with the Mayor of Londonderry and was shot through his hat. Now very converted and determined to change his ways he went on to be a devout Christian and many think that these experiences in Londonderry were the inspiration for his writing the hymn, “Amazing Grace.”

From there we went on to the play, but instead of being a play it was period costumed players who interacted with us telling stories of their days and times which was 1789. Delightfully they told us about King George losing the colonies and of having tea (pronounced tah) with the ladies down the street. They taught my grandsons how to politely bow when saying goodbye and we had a delightful time with them before taking our leave.

We also visited the monuments for those who lost their lives in the Troubles which is the Irish revolt that lasted roughly from 1968 to 1998. It was a very full day, the highlight being a visit to the “flat” where Mr J lived while on his mission. The lady who lives there now was very kind (I’ve decided all Irish people are extremely hospitable!) and visited with us for awhile. It is very late now, but hard to go to sleep with all the day’s events dancing in my head.