Ireland Day 2

         We arrived at the Dublin airport around 11 this morning—an hour late because of a minor electrical issue.  We were not concerned about making our 1:00 luncheon reservation 90 minutes south of the airport, because this time we had come fully prepared.  Joel had let us borrow the TomTom GPS device from the Italy trip last year, loaded with maps of all of Europe, and we had a European phone with minutes on the SIM card still left over from Tricia’s visit to Dublin last year.

         We breezed through customs, picked up the rental car, and plugged in TomTom to begin the journey south.  Only, TomTom appeared to be as lost as we were.  He said we were in State College, Pennsylvania, and he would not accept the name of the town where we wanted to go.  First he wanted to take us to Hell’s Kitchen in New York City; then he said we had previously asked for directions in Benson, Vermont.  Finally, he told us the nearest pharmacy was 2,090 miles away.  During this time we were trying to navigate our way around the city and watching the clock.  Your writer remained calm and cool throughout this process (Be quiet, Tricia; I’m writing this story.), because we had a map and the street signs are pretty good here.  But when we realized we would never make it on time, we pulled out the trusty old phone, turned it on, and called the restaurant to see if we could arrive a little late.  Actually, we only tried to call the restaurant.  But the phone had teamed up with TomTom and announced that our SIM card was not registered for use in Ireland.

         Since this is only our first full day in Ireland, and since there are more important matters to report, we will not bore you with the details of the conversations we had with each other, or those we had with TomTom and the European phone.  You will just have to use your imagination.  What is important is that we actually did arrive on time, as a result of Tricia’s skillful navigation and inestimable patience.  And the meal at Tinakilly Country House Hotel and Restaurant was wonderful.  We had our first look at the Irish Sea from the beautiful grounds.  We were even allowed to use the wireless Internet service there to email Joel a friendly note about our experience with TomTom.  He promptly replied that if we would just set the device to use European maps, we would have no further problems with it.  And so far we haven’t.  We also stopped in the next town to recharge the SIM card and were informed that if you do not use the minutes you purchase within 6 months, you lose them.  We now have a properly operating phone and GPS.

Tinakilly Country House and Restaurant

          One of the first things you learn in Ireland, after noticing that everyone drives on the wrong side of the road, is that the people here talk funny and have strange ways of pronouncing many words.  Take Glendalough, for example, where we arrived after our drive from Tinakilly.  The obvious pronunciation is Glen-da-low.  Some might call it Glen-da-loff.  But the inimitable Irish have decided it's Glen-da-lahk.  Their response to any questioning of this strange way seems to be, "We were here first, and we can call it anything we like."  Perhaps they have a point.  But from time to time we may be advising you of some of the language idiosyncrasies so you will not embarrass us next time you visit this big island country.

On the road from Rathnew to Glendalough

          Another thing you must learn here is something of the nation's history.  We'll start with “Glendalock”.    The name comes from old Irish, Gleann Dá Loch, or Glen of Two Lakes.  Wikipedia tells us it was founded by Saint Kevin, a hermit priest, in the sixth century.  Some of our readers may pause at this point to contemplate just exactly how a town can be founded by a hermit.  The truth, of course, is that such an act is impossible.  It turns out that Saint Kevin actually left the area after finding what it was called, and brought back some of his monk friends to build a monastery, apparently renouncing his vows of hermithood in the process.  We will leave it to you to decide how a crowd of monks kept a town alive for centuries.

          The settlement flourished for 600 years or so, until the English destroyed it in 1398.  The English, you may recall, had for many years a fascination with destruction, usually coupled with conquest.  The Irish recall it well, and while here you might refrain from praising the British in the local pubs, particularly after nightfall when the pints are really flowing.  And if your last name is Cromwell, perhaps you should consider vacationing elsewhere, for reasons that may become apparent in later reports.

         In any event, we  made it here, checked into our B & B, and went on a walk of 30 miles or so through the valleys, to the two lakes for which the area is named, stopping to observe an ancient church, stone tower, and cemetery which are also well known landmarks of this area.

Ancient St. Mary's Church and Round Tower

Tombstone near St.Mary's Church

         In the evening we went into town to dine at the Wicklow Heather Restaurant, a repository of first edition books and original correspondence by some of Ireland's great authors.  James Joyce was there, as were Oscar Wilde, Jonathan Swift, and Bram Stoker.  It was quite a collection.  Also there was a meal of brazed shank of Wicklow lamb with root vegetables on a spring onion champ, preceded by wild venison sausage on wild mushroom and brown rice ragu.  At the end of it we agreed we could not eat another bite.  Until the dessert menu arrived.  Jumping out of the list--it had to have been in bright bold lettering--was the locally produced Fox's ice cream:  Bailey's, pistachio, and strawberry flavors.  How could you turn away from such an opportunity?

        So the evening was topped off by a scoop of Bailey's and a scoop of pistachio.  Okay, it was two scoops of pistachio.  But I thought Tricia would help me with it.  Honestly.  Both flavors were so rich, so creamy, so divinely delicious, that it was a good thing Tricia was present.  Otherwise I might have made a pig of myself.

Paradise found in the Wicklow Heather

Charlie & Tricia

Copyright 2012