Monday, November 28th – All Things Must Pass

Here is what Poolbeg Lighthouse looks like:

It would have been cool to see.  On a sunny day.

I was pleasantly surprised by a 9AM phone call from Ms. Mary Gibbons herself.  There was space for me and I could go on her tour.  I just needed to be at the bus stop within the hour.  Excellent.  It was to be my last day on the Emerald Isle.  I planned to take advantage of it.

The bus pick up was about the same spot as my drop off the first day I arrived.  It was an eighty seat touring bus.  Kind of like the ones we used to take to hockey games when I was a kid.  Except without the bathrooms in back and the drunken parents in the front.

Mary Gibbons greeted us at the front.  She was a stodgy middle-aged Irish lady who could have been a middle school teacher at any of a number of stateside prep schools.  That said, she brought a full set of knowledge and opinions to the trip (do NOT get her started on modern architecture or the IRA).

As we settled in for the bus ride outside of the city, we were informed to fasten our seat belts.  It’s Irish law.  On a bus.  All I could think of was this politically incorrect scene from Old School.

I guess I should say where the tour would take us.  Mary Gibbons offers two tours – Powerscourt and Glendalough or Newgrange and Hill of Tara.  I wanted to see dwarves and druids so I was off to Newgrange and the Hill of Tara.  This trip would go through the Boyne River Valley.

The bus was about half full and it was a mix of old people and random one-offs – a girl from Australia, a dad and his son in on business from Germany, an uptight SUNY student, a gaggle of ladies from Spain, and various, elderly Americans.  Of the forty plus people well over seventy percent were AARP eligible.  We were only one fat lady away from a Magical Mystery Tour.

Mary gave us a running historical commentary as we wound our way out of the city.  She was quite good and I would recommend this tour to anyone.  I kept waiting for her to stop and take questions but she kept rambling on through.  An example of her dialog would be, and think of Mrs. Doubtfire when you read this, “Oh, and here is the house that Sean O’Casey wrote The Shadow of a Gunman in and, oh, look at that awful house next to it.  Such an eyesore!  Terrible,terrible.  It’s terrible, what they let people put up.  Anyway, Sean O’Casey…”  And so on.

The Boyne Valley was the site of the Battle of Boyne, one of the most important battles in British-Irish history.  Taking place in July of 1690, it was a classic Catholic versus Protestant battle.  Protestant King William defeated Catholic King James and resulted in the Treaty of Limerick that, surprisingly, did not begin with “There once was a man from Nantucket…”

We did not actually see the battle site, as that was not part of this tour.  The bus road through the valley and we saw many dilapidated Abbeys.  As mentioned earlier in this blog, when Henry VIII broke with Rome, the monks had to give up their lands and most of the Abbeys closed.  Ireland has a lot of things that seem to hang over them in a haunting way and these scattered Abbeys were definitely one of them.  They all seemed to be off in the distance as we rolled by, hanging as beautiful old shells on the horizon.

Mary also gave us a little overview of Irish folklore.  Most of the older sites in Ireland had some sort of legend around them involving leprechauns, fairies, or some sort of other protective spirit.  As children, the Irish were told these stories, usually in conjunction with some horrible ending, and explained that this is why no one goes near “there”.  The speculation is that the reason so many old sites are well preserved is because the folk tales were very effective at keeping most people out of those places.  And there are a few awkwardly structured sentences.

Our first stop was the Hill of Tara.  The Hill was the seat of the King of Ireland and, more importantly, the site of many sacred rituals.  One hundred and forty-two kings were crowned there.  We stepped off of the bus into a little bit of the traditional Irish weather as it was breezy and a little wet out there.

To get to the Hill, you had to hop through part of the broken wall at St. Patrick’s Cross Church.  This was a little challenging for some of the tour – almost like Pooh getting through Rabbit’s hole (which sounds awful unless you get the reference).  From the peak point of the Hill, you get a 360 degree view of Ireland.  On a clear day, supposedly you can see the coasts.  Today you had about ten miles visibility.  And with that visibility you could see were Ireland got its nickname, the Emerald Isle – there were a million different shades of green to be seen.

The Hill of Tara was Ireland’s political and spiritual capital from Gaelic times through to the 1100s.  Basically, the arrival of St. Patrick and the growth of Christianity slowly eroded its significance.  Many people still consider this a very sacred and spiritual site.  It appeared also to be a major grazing place for sheep as sometimes you were not so much standing on the Hill of Tara but on a pile of sheep droppings.

Tara means “place of great prospect”.  In the middle of the area was the Lia Fail.  This was the ancient coronation stone and was supposed to have roared when touched by the rightful King of Tara.  Alas, it made no sound when I touched it so I will not be able to add King of Tara to my resume.

Soon it was time to re-board the bus.  After a quick pass through the restroom and the gift shop, we were back on our way.  The collective tombs and passages throughout the countryside are known as Bu Na Boinne.  This includes sites at Newgrange, Knowth and Dowth.  The combined area is the largest and one of the most important prehistoric megalithic sites in Europe (megalithic has something to do with rocks and such).  We were specifically going to visit Newgrange.

The Bru Na Bonnie site is older than Stonehenge, a thousand years older than the Pyramids, and the oldest astronomical observatory in the world that has remained completely intact since the Stone Age.  All groups must pass through the Visitor’s Center to access the site.  At the Center you can grab lunch, take in a video overview of the site, and shuffle your way to the shuttle buses that move you up to the hill where you can walk to the structure.

Newgrange is the central mound of the Boyne Valley.  You queue up to pass through the gate and then walk up to the front of the tomb to get a brief overview from an archeologist.  Going into the tomb is a lesson in claustrophobia and European hygiene.  It is thirty plus people in a very small space.  I had to duck and turn sideways to get in to the end.  The way in is artificially lit and you are not aware how dark is can be until they turn out the lights.

Newgrange is aligned with the Winter Solstice.  For a few days a year, at sunrise, the morning light penetrates the tunnel and lights up the burial chamber.  To demonstrate this, the guide has everyone move to one side or the other, creating a path, turns out the light, and mimics the sunrise with artificial light.  It presents a quick opportunity to get close to your neighbor.  I swear I heard heavy breathing and the clacking of dentures banging together.

Once the lights come back up, you are given a chance to check out the three recesses that would have contained the ashes.  Since you are wedged in like sardines, you have to shimmy around the room nudging your neighbors along the way.  Many people quickly headed out the one exit and into open space.  Once you were outside, you had the opportunity to walk around the burial mound.  Then it was off to the shuttle and back to the Visitor’s Center and on to the bus.

The whole trip through the countryside took around six hours.  Mary popped in the overview tape from the Visitor’s Center for the bus ride back.  Since she was not such the Chatty Cathy, I was able to get a few nods before rolling back into Dublin.

Despite a little over fourteen hours left in the country, I still had a few more things I wanted to see.  I had not gone inside the Bank of Ireland and was hoping to do that but with Monday hours and closing times fast approaching I had to make choices.  The Bank was tossed to the wayside as I scrambled through Gratfon and made my way to Whitefriar Street Carmelite Church.  The Church contains the remains of two saints.  I specifically wanted to see the remains of St. Valentine, which had been donated to the church by Pope Gregory XVI in the nineteenth century.

Whenever I enter a church, I am always aware that these are active churches.  It is disturbing to watch tourists trudge through these things like they are museums.  Almost all the time there is someone in a pew, head down, and deep in prayer/meditation and I always wonder what the prayer is for.  Not my business, I know, but I do wonder and speculate.

Somewhere along the way, I rushed past St. Stephen's Green.  Not much to see in the dark but I touched the grass just to claim I had been there.  This was also a private park until 1877 when Sir Alec Guinness, uh, Arthur Guinness pushed an act through Parliament (funkadelic) to open the park to the public.  Once again, beer wins the day.

One of the other things I wanted to see was the statue of Phil Lynott.  Phil Lynott was the bassist and front man of the Irish band Thin Lizzy.  He died in 1986 at the age of 36 but I’ll never forget hearing a live concert of theirs on the King Biscuit Flower Hour as beamed out from a Cleveland radio station.  The song they are best known for is “The Boys Are Back In Town."

The statue is located outside of Bruxelles where the band played.  The bar still has an active band scene as traditional Irish blues are played upstairs and heavy metal remains downstairs.  They also serve food.  I was hungry so I got the traditional Christmas meal of turkey, ham, stuffing, potatoes, and veggies.

At the table next to me appeared to be some aging rockers or moldy wannabes.  I overheard a lot of Spinal Tap-like road stories.  I ventured inside and listened to another band warm up.  Then I decided to take in a few of the pubs I had not seen, yet.  Temple Bar, Auld Dubliner, one pub led to the next and then it was another decision point.  I had to wake up by 4AM for my flight – do I go back and get a few hours of sleep or to I close this road trip out Irish style?

Documenting the hours between 10PM and 5AM would take another few paragraphs.  These are time and details that I am not willing to spend or expose.  As I type these notes up in the Dublin Airport, I prepare to wave this country goodbye.  All things must pass…