Travel - Ireland

Travel – Ireland

            Ireland was my destination.  Ten years before, on a two-week Grand Circle bus tour of England, Wales, Ireland and Scotland, I experienced a connection with the Divine when I stepped off the bus in Tramore, a tiny village in County Waterford on the southeast seacoast by the Irish Sea.  There was a vibration in my body rising from the soles of my feet saying Welcome home and I knew I would return one day.  I had the strangest feeling that Here is where I belong.  I’ve been here before.  But, of course, I hadn’t been there before in this life.  Maybe an earlier one.

Even those short two days in Ireland contained a memorable event.  The morning after we arrived at the Majestic Hotel in Tramore, I took a walk past the carnival rides down to the sea and happened upon a manmade circle of small stones for a fire on the beach—an inspiring meditation spot.  The double rainbow I saw was my first.  Even now, writing about it, shivers run down my spine.  It was just after sunrise.  A light mist was falling.  Not enough for an umbrella, just enough to feel connected to the Source of the moisture.  On my early morning walks, often feelings arise of connection to the Universe from simple objects like a brightly colored leaf or an insect or tiny lizard catching my eye.  The circle of stones and double rainbow have never faded from my memory.

When I returned home I telephoned my elderly aunt and asked if she knew of a connection for our family to Ireland.  Why, of course, your father’s mother, Stella Maloy, was one of thirteen good Irish Catholic children.  You remember your grandmother, I know.  I remember her for sure, I had just forgotten about her being Irish. It was more than that, I felt an even deeper connection – a more direct one.  So Ireland was my natural choice for my first travel alone since my husband’s passing two years earlier.

            Why alone?  I didn’t want the distraction of another person.  I wanted to find out if I could do it alone.  To be honest, I wanted to show myself and the world that I was perfectly competent to travel alone.  In fact, I was scared senseless.  So, of course, I did it.  Being scared added to the excitement of the adventure.

It would have been more frightening, except my son Luke located my apartment in Kinsale through a Rotary contact before I left home. He sent an email to the Cork Bishoptown Rotary Club saying something like My 76 -year-old mother is coming to Ireland alone.  She needs an apartment for two months.  Can you help?  I’ll appreciate your watching out for her.   Alana James, a member of the club, responded the next day.  After a few emails, we agreed on a price and I was set with an apartment waiting for me. So, I knew I had a place to lay my head on a pillow when I got there – a big comfort.

            Kinsale, County Cork,  is known as the Gourmet Capital of Ireland with over forty restaurants in the tiny harbor town.  (It is world famous because the Lusitania sank off the coast here in 1915 when 1198 lives were lost.)  My favorite restaurant was the Fishy Fish restaurant by the harbor where I ate salmon six or eight times.  It makes my mouth water now just thinking of the delight.  

Shopping was always a fun adventure.  The holiday season ended and school began during my stay. Therefore, sales abounded.  Of course, I bought so much stuff – even books – I had to mail boxes of my purchases home to avoid exhorbitant airline charges for overweight baggage.  Speaking of overweight, I actually lost weight from all the continual walking up and down hills—and the delicious fresh local food—mostly veggies, fish, and fruits—but also some delicious lamb—and potatoes at every meal.

This return to Ireland came four years ago when I spent August and September based in Kinsale just a few kilometers west of Tramore.  I now know Ireland has many sacred circles of stones much larger and grander than the small one I saw on the beach at Tramore.  Each time I saw one I was struck with feelings of awe and intense spiritual sensations.  Circles are mesmerizing—unleashing my inner knowings—especially knowings of the interconnected world surrounding me and including me. 

Margie, Alana’s partner,  took me to the Dromberg circle—located in the middle of a field on a rise overlooking the sea.   All of the stones were upright except for one reclining on its side which must have served as an altar.  There was a small stream a short distance outside the circle.  Did they camp here thousands of years ago? 

From the web, I learned: Dromberg, near Skibbereen, the hub of West Cork, is undoubtedly the finest of the stone circles in County Cork.  Dating back to about 150 BC, this circle of 17 standing stones is 9 m (30 ft) in diameter.  At the winter solstice, the rays of the setting sun fall on the flat altar stone.  Nearby is a small stream with a Stone Age cooking pit.  A fire was made on the hearth and hot stones from the fire were dropped into the cooking pit to heat the water.  Once boiling, often venison, was added.

The view of the sea in the distance from the ancient circle of stones created a place where I felt the presence of spiritual beings.  So much so that I found myself whispering the few words I uttered.  The silence was infectious.  It was easy to visualize an ancient ritual occurring at the circle.

When I visited the Stonehenge site in England, there was none of that.  The hordes of people eliminated any chance of spiritual connection.  Only four people were at Dromberg—me, Margie, and a young couple.  All were respecting the silent stillness in awe and reverence for those who created and frequented the ancient place of worship.  This visit enhanced my desire to know more about Celtic spirituality—which I am still studying.

            Travel offers more opportunities for noticing since all surroundings are new.  At least initially, we are preoccupied with finding our way around the new environment.  But, we are free of obligations, if we plan it that way, and our mind is free from everyday duties leaving space for noticing and learning.  It is often surprising which sightings are  meaningful and thus memorable.  Such happenings touch me in a deep place more often now that I am an elder and have fewer required activities and am less distracted by those required activities I allow into my world.

Connecting with the Community           

            The two months flew by.  Six months would have been better.  Still, I became somewhat a part of the community.  Joining a local yoga class was a big joy.  Rose, the instructor,  treated me like a very welcome visitor three times a week.  My apartment owners, Margie and Alana, treated me like a guest instead of a renter.  Dinner at their home across the harbor in Castle Park introduced me to the notion of serving the meat entrée (roast chicken) atop a bed of greens.  Margie took me to Castle Ballinacarriga adorned with a Sheelagh-na-gig on the wall (one of few remaining in place in Ireland) on the same trip when we visited Dromberg Stones.

Alana and her Bishoptown Rotary Club welcomed me to two of their gatherings.  One was a delightful dinner at an Italian restaurant up on the hill near the Kinsale Yoga Studio where I attended yoga classes.

David, the cleric at St. Multose came to my apartment (across the street from his church) for coffee and talk about the history of St. Multose and Celtic wisdom.  (St. Multose has held services continuously for 800 to 1200 years, depending on who you ask.) I bought scones from the bakery two doors down and tried to make coffee in the French press maker – with David’s help stirring which I forgot to do.  (I never saw a French press coffee maker until this visit.)  I  joined Alana’s water aerobics class and met her for early services at St. Multose on Sunday mornings.  .

            One of the delights of my apartment was the view from my kitchen window.  St. Multose Church was directly across the street.  It was a busy street since a large town parking lot was next door to my apartment and the Tap Room Tavern next to the church.  Incidentally, the Garda Station was on the other side and a small Fishy Fish Shop and Chipper below. 

People watching was a favorite pastime.  Schools opened a few weeks before I left and I especially enjoyed watching the children going to and from school up and down the hill in their uniforms.  Boys in gray flannel slacks, girls in very short grey flannel skirts with black tights, and both with blue oxford-cloth button-down shirts and gray v-neck sweaters.  How very business-like they looked.

(More on Ireland next posting.  Comments are eagerly expected.)