Stone and Weather
Dublin to Cork
Glass and brick. Limestone and wind. Cliffs, ferries, castles, painted shopfronts, and one last city.
Ireland changed every few miles. We followed it west, then south, and let the weather come with us.
Dublin
We stayed at Beckett Locke in the Docklands. Our two-bedroom apartment gave us room to spread out, though the key-card electricity, electronic toilet, and washer-dryer designs confused us - the features reflect the Irish prioritization of efficient use of resources.
Dublin didn’t choose between old and new. It combined them.
Old warehouses faced sharp new towers. The river ran between them.
The new Dublin rose in grids of glass, clean and modern.
A small sail crossed the basin. I heard a local refer to the area as Silicon Canally.
The Samuel Beckett Bridge opened like a harp over the Liffey.
A great stone head - a likeness of a famous musician.
St. Laurence O’Toole Church. Wewent to Mass and confession at St. Laurence O’Toole. The priest gave me his rosary.
The church was bright and still and I was greeted very warmly by the parishioners.
The infamous Temple Bar. Over Guinness we met an Irish couple and two women from Austria who had years ago worked in the US as Au Pairs. We trauma bonded over recent political events.
Flowers spilled over the stone pub walls.
Trinity College held a treasure- The Book of Kells. Its grounded in the middle of the city. We took a guided tour.
The books stood in ranks beneath a floating earth. Old wisdom and modern technology.
Outside, another globe had been dissected - both solid and fragile.
Trace and Shayna at the Book of Kells
After 2 days in Dublin we spent a day in Temple Port Cavan with distant cousins. Then we headed to the Burren.
The Burren
A unique geological feature and a Unesco site.
Waters Country House sat outside Ballyvaughan at the foot of the Burren. It had deep chairs, a good fire, and a cozy quiet setting.
Our hosts were a Swiss couple who have owned and run the sprawling Inn for 30 years. They made sure candles and fires were lit each night to welcome us home.
Biking the Burren
I rented an e-bike and rode the coast 30km past two beaches. Then the road turned and I rode another 30km uphill into the Burren. No other riders were on the road and very few cars passed.
Gray stone lay beneath green fields. Walls crossed the land and ran along the narrow roads.
The road narrowed and climbed. There was no traffic, no tourists only wind. And a few cows.
At the Burren Perfumery, I left the bicycle beside a stone garden cafe and ate leek soup, then cake and tea.
Back in Killinvarna I waited for the Route 350 bus to take me back to The Waters House. 2 men, one and old Irish gentleman, and later a young Swiss asked me if this was the Route to Ennisvarna - where the matchmaking festival was in full swing. I made a note to take a detour there for Lisa.
In Lisdoonvarna, even the pub promised a match.
That night we ate takeaway kebabs beside the fire at Waters Country House.
The Cliffs of Moher
Rain and wind buffeted us at the cliffs and I was yet again glad for my good raincoat. We walked the edge and climbed O’Brien’s Tower.
The cliffs fell straight into the Atlantic. The sea struck them and came back white.
Traceand Shayna smiled into the wind.
They stood at the wall with the cliffs behind them. The Atlantic churned below.
The Shannon Ferry
We crossed the Shannon Estuary by ferry. We left the car, climbed to the deck, and drank hot tea in the wind.
The ferry carried us south. The gray water widened behind us.
We stopped for lunch in Tarbert
Tarbert was small, tidy, and quiet after the crossing.
A plaque remembered Bridget “Bridie” Wren, an Irish nurse whose life carried her far from home. Ireland had sent its people far and wide.
Ballyseede Castle and Wood
Ballyseede Castle stood outside Tralee among lawns, gardens, and old woodland. Inside were fireplaces, deep chairs, a great staircase, and dogs who understood hospitality.
The drive curved through clipped lawns and old trees.
From the meadow, Ballyseede looked less like a hotel and more like a story. I liked it best beneath the gray sky. Castles should have weather.
The stone rose straight and severe. The red door softened it.
The Irish Wolfhound gauarded our wing.
A swooning princess.
A swooning Shayna
A picture perfect site for weddings.
I walked deep into Ballyseedy Woods and got a bit turned around. A kind architect found me as it was turning dark and drove me back to the castle in time for our dinner reservation.
Lisa and I took the proof-of-castle picture. That night brought clawfoot baths, face masks, and a three-course dinner.
Dingle
Base Dingle was simple, central, and close to the harbor. When our boat tour was canceled, the town became the plan.
Dingle ran downhill in painted fronts and pub signs. The harbor was never far away.
The convent was closed, so we walked through its old garden. Small white crosses rested beneath a broad tree.
The branches hung low over the graves. The place was quiet and green
St. Mary’s Church was open. So were the wool shops. We bought gifts, mailed them home, and earned a long nap.
At the Dingle Pub we ate shepherd’s pie. Lisa spoke with a Ukrainian couple who ran a medical clinic at home. The war was wearing them down.
Two days in Dingle was enough and we headed to Cork.
Cork
The drive to Cork took two hours and felt longer. Gray sky gave way to sun over farms and rolling hills.
The Dean was bold, modern, and comfortable. It had a pool below and Sophie’s rooftop above. It made for a soft landing.
Trace and Shayna went exploring. Lisa and I drank smoothies in the lobby and read.
We ate at Sophie’s above the city. In the morning, the working harbor lay below—all cranes, chimneys, and hard light.
Shayna planned the day in Cork, and we took the hop-on hop-off bus through Cork, stopping at the Butter Museum, the Cork Gaol, and having chicken pie at the English Market.
We finished the day with a relax at the Dean spa.
Tomorrow we head to Boston.
