The chilly Atlantic pushed our ferry off the coast of Ireland towards the rocky Aran Islands in the distance, each wave colored a blue deeper than midnight. When we disembarked, the mist creeping down the rocky bluffs of the island and the sea spray caught in my hair. I had been in Ireland for over a week now, and for my first visit I had adjusted surprisingly well to the constant misting. Maybe it was growing up in the Houston, Texas humidity that had prepared me so well.

A lanky black and white border collie ran up the beach to greet us. Apparently, as the captain later told us, he waits there every day to greet the tourists. My fellow study abroad students played fetch with him for a bit with a piece of driftwood and I was reminded of my own border collie back home.

Then we all swarmed the small bicycle rental booth and were off. The hilly terrain and wet air tested our endurance, but not as much as the wind. As my classmates raced by, determined to beat each other around the island, I slowed my pace and soon was alone with the wind and the rocks. I walked beside my rental bike and pulled my raincoat’s hood up over my hair. The mist coming off of the sea gave my face a sloppy, wet kiss. Here on the craggy island of Inis Mór, everything seemed desolate. Desolate and beautiful.

The gravel road that wound around the island was hemmed in with crooked walls of large stone coming up waist high. I had seen many stone houses and fences on my tour of the country. Everything seemed preserved just the way it was in the early 1900s. Donkeys still are used to farm since today’s technology-savvy vehicles still can’t cope with the harsh landscape. The houses are still built from stone with the occasional thatched roof, lending even more to the feeling of being stuck in history.

A shepherd with his sheepdog trotting at his side passed me on the road and gave me a smile. I waved back and he rounded the bend, disappearing from sight, and I had to wonder if he had even been there in the first place.

Around me, the coarse grass blew in the sea wind and looked a strange yellow under the gray-tinged sky. There were no sounds except for the empty wind and the crashing of waves far below. Even though the island seemed utterly abandoned at any brief moment, all I had to do was match the island’s slower pace and things began to come alive.

Squat, round bellied donkeys with shaggy hair covering up their eyes came quietly over to the stone fence. I patted one on the head and let it snuffle the air around me. Standing there with the wind and mist, I slowly began to realize why time seemed to move so slowly here.

There were no birds, trees, or transient flowers to alert me to the quick passing of time. Only hardy creatures endured here; island grass that looks withered year round, hardworking donkeys, and cold stone. I was the out of place one, a young traveler in my early twenties, a head of soft blonde hair, and a raincoat the color of spring roses.

The donkey snuffled some more at me and his fellow came over to inspect the splash of color in their world of grays, greens, and browns.

I took up my bike and tried to ride it once more but the wind caused me to dismount after a few lengths down the road. As I walked into the wind, holding my bike with one hand and my hood on with the other, I could hear the grunts and snorts of seals on the rocky beach below. I propped my bike up against the stone wall and leaned over to look down from the outcropping.

A group of harbor seals, brown and gray in color, lounged on the rocks near the cold water like I would lounge at the pool. They looked up at me as I stood there shivering, staring back at them. One leaned its head back as if to sunbathe in the almost sunless sky, its body contorted around the narrow rocky ledge it was perched on. But the seal looked perfectly comfortable that way.

As they grunted to one another, I could imagine them discussing the waif of a girl leaning on the overhang to observe them. One of them had probably decided that if I should fall over, the seals closest should help me to shore.

I walked my bike around the loop, looking at the harsh silhouette of the island against the darkening sky. I felt as if I was in the presence of something very great and powerful. The strength of the stone walls lining my path, protecting me from the wildness that occasionally crept over the sides in the form of grasses and vines, had stood that way for centuries themselves.

An abandoned farmhouse sat nestled back in a bluff. The four walls were still standing but the roof was missing. It had been a thatched roof and weaker than its stony counterparts. Things that are fragile and stamped with time can’t survive in this timeless land.

The wind bit my face and I could almost feel my skin growing taut and rough like the seaman’s who had helped us off the ferry when we first came over that day. The skin on his cheeks was ruddy and weather-beaten, his eyes glinting with the colors of the Atlantic sea that tries so very hard to overcome the stony outcropping the people called home.

My steps slowed and became heavier, more grounded. It was like my center of gravity had shifted, been pulled down to the sturdy stone beneath my feet. I mounted my bike and was able to pedal the rest of the way to the docks where our ferry would be leaving soon. The wind didn’t slow me as much as it did before and the donkeys only gave me an acknowledging glance instead of their usual concern.

When I came into town with my cheeks red and my hair tangled into knots that wound around my ears, I felt just a bit timeless myself. As if I could have been any creature that had made its way from the wilderness into civilization and survived the harshness of the landscape.

Once I returned my bike, I saw some of my friends from my study abroad group. We ducked out of the wind and mist to one of the few pubs on the island. There we warmed up and ate hamburgers while an old John Wayne western played on TV. It struck me as an odd thing to find something as American as hamburgers and John Wayne here in one of the most remote places I had ever visited. After we paid for our meal, we went out to meet the ferry once more, leaving two old Irishmen at the bar to finish watching the western.

As I stepped onto the large boat that was to bring us back to the mainland, I couldn’t help but think how small it looked in comparison to the vast ocean and the white tipped waves. The boat pulled away from shore and I looked back at the wooden dock that jutted out into the churning waters. It was a dock that had survived, on a daily basis, extreme high and low tides. Upon arrival we had seen a sailboat sitting dry on the sand where we played with the dog. But now, it was already being buoyed slightly by the saltwater creeping up the shore. That old dock with its smoothed timbers seemed to me sturdier than the ferry built of plastic and metal carting us back.

The island grew farther and farther away and I looked after it as long as I could make it out. In a way, the island was like the fountain of eternal youth, but the fountain of eternal age. Everything was born old but never grew any older. Everything there only grew stronger, and hung around far longer than what the natural concept of time says about each thing having its own place and time to exist.

If You Go:

More on Inis Mór and the other Aran Islands as well as trip information if you’re wanting to visit:

The beautiful scenery and attractions on Inis Mór, like the spectacular cliffs and prehistoric sites:

The long history of the Aran Islands:

Aran Islands and Cliffs of Moher Day Trip from Galway including Cliff Cruise

About the author:
Jessica Cook is an enthusiastic traveler with her latest journey being a trip to England and Ireland. She is a self-proclaimed history buff and loves traveling to places where the sights are great and the stories abound. Her usual writing fare is historical fiction, but she likes to dabble in travel writing and creative nonfiction. To learn more about Jessica and access her blog and published short stories, visit http://jessicawalkerauthor.weebly.com/

All photos by Jessica Cook:
The coastline of Ireland while traveling through the Ring of Kerry.
One of the long haired donkeys on Inis Mór
A pair of long haired donkeys on Inis Mór
An abandoned stone house seen while traveling through the Ring of Kerry, similar houses were seen on Inis Mór but the amount of mist didn’t allow many pictures.
A grounded boat at the docks at Inis Mór while the tide was out.

by Troy Herrick

Ireland has been called the Land of Saints and Scholars because of its strong monastic tradition. Patrick, the Patron Saint of Ireland, brought Christianity to the island in the 5th century CE. Within one hundred years of his arrival numerous monastic settlements had sprang up around the country. Centuries later some small towns even had more than one monastery belonging to different orders of monks like the Benedictines, Franciscans, Cistercians or Dominicans. These monasteries thrived over the centuries and became wealthy.

Henry VIII, King of England and Ireland, viewed these monasteries as sources of untapped wealth during the Reformation and decreed that they should be closed or destroyed. His legacy provides you with many ruins to visit throughout the country. As such you need to be very choosy about where to spend your valuable vacation time. Two sites that should not be missed are Glendalough and the Rock of Cashel.

Glendalough

As we stood outside the former monastic site at Glendalough, our guide, Joan, directed us to the 900-year old gateway and indicated that the original structure had two round-headed granite arches supporting a timber roof. This was the gateway to civilization at the time. The lands beyond the monastic settlement teamed with highwaymen and other dangers. I imagined terrified individuals running past us through the gate to reach the cross-inscribed stone set just inside on the right as Joan explained that Glendalough was a place of refuge. The so-called “Sanctuary Stone” defined the point of safety for those on the run. Once a refugee passed inside the gate beyond the stone, he/she was safe.

Stepping inside the gate, you see a round tower protruding from the green foliage a short distance away. This 100- foot tall stone needle essentially identified the site of the monastery. This multi-purpose structure served as a bell tower, a treasury and a place of refuge in times of attack. The monks retreated inside through the entrance 10-12 feet off the ground, pulled up the ladder and closed the door.

In the vicinity of the round tower, the remains of a cathedral, dedicated to St Peter and St Paul, consist of a 10th century nave and a 12th century chancel. The arch, once finely decorated, is constructed of limestone imported from Bristol, England. A wall cupboard and basin used for washing the sacred vessels used in the mass is still visible in the sacristy.

The guided tour portion of the Glendalough visit ended after short stops at the Priest’s House, St. Kevin’s Church and St Ciaran’s Church. Exiting the site, Diane and I drove up the road to a strip of land separating the upper and lower lakes. Glendalough (glean dá locha) translates to “glen of the two lakes”.

The postcard-like view of the upper lake features green hills gently rolling into the water on your left and trees at the water’s edge on your right. Opposite you in the distance, a stream descends the mountain into the lake. This tranquil setting greeted St. Kevin almost 14 centuries ago.

Parking our car at the gate, we walked to the caher, a 60 foot diameter stone ring fort of unknown age. The caher may have been on site during St. Kevin’s time but those who constructed it were not. Kevin, known as a hermit priest, originally settled at Glendalough because of its isolation. Others later followed because they were drawn by the presence of this holy man.

Walking on, you enter a grove of trees to find the derelict 11th century Reefert Church with its stone nave and chancel. This church was a major attraction for those on pilgrimage to Glendalough as St. Kevin’s relics were housed here after his death.

“Reefert” is derived from Righ Fearta meaning “the burial place of Kings”. History records that seven princes of the O’Toole Clan were interred at this holy site but their graves are not apparent in the churchyard outside.

Following a path beyond Reefert Church brings you to St. Kevin’s Cell. This basic home is believed to have been a “beehive-like” structure with a corbelled roof. Nothing remains other than the base. The pathway leading to St Kevin’s Cell was too muddy to continue so we ended our visit at this point and returned to enjoy the tranquil beauty of the upper lake over a picnic lunch.

The Rock of Cashel

Slowly Diane and I climbed to the summit of the 300-foot high limestone promontory known as the Rock of Cashel. At the top, we were rewarded with a panoramic view of the green fields of County Tipperary below and the town of Cashel at the base. Despite the presence of the town below, the rock feels isolated.

From the 4th century CE, the rock was used as a stronghold for the High Kings of Munster. Today visitors find no evidence of 1700 years of settlement. The oldest structure, dating to the 12th century, is the 90-foot round tower. This tower was constructed of fitted stones after King Muircheartach O’Brien donated the Rock of Cashel to the Catholic Church in 1101.

Set next to the round tower, you find the shell of the second cathedral on site, dating to 1235. The current gray stone structure is cruciform with a central tower. The nave, which was never completed, is shorter than the choir. The north transept houses three sarcophagi, dating the 16th century, each with carved bas reliefs of the apostles around the periphery. The Protestant Church of Ireland abandoned this cathedral in the mid 17th century and then had the roof removed to collect the lead for ammunition. The cathedral lacks a roof to this day.

Cormac’s Chapel, built by Benedictine monks, stands next to the cathedral. Dating to 1134, this Romanesque chapel has a German influence in its construction. The Abbot of Regensburg sent two carpenters to help build the twin towers on either side at the junction of the nave and chancel.

Inside the chapel, you find a white vaulted ceiling with plaster fragments falling off. The whitewash, dating from the Reformation in the 16th century, was used to cover the oldest frescoes in Ireland including those of the Nativity. An intricately carved sarcophagus at the back of the chapel might possibly be that of King Cormac himself.

Exiting the chapel, we again savored the magnificent view before us. Clouds were giving way to blue sky in the distance. Somehow the site felt a little less lonely with the birds singing.

Luxury Shore Excursion: Dublin Highlights and Glendalough Day Trip from Dublin

If You Go:

♦ Admission to Glendalough is 3 Euros.
♦ Admission to the Rock of Cashel is 6 Euros.
♦ You can also purchase the Heritage Pass.  This provides free admission to the two sites outlined here.
♦ For more information about Ireland, visit www.plan-a-dream-trip.com/discover-ireland.html
♦ Plan your vacation at: www.plan-a-dream-trip.com

Kilkenny and Cashel Day Trip from Cork

About the author:
Troy Herrick, a freelance travel writer, has traveled extensively in North America, the Caribbean, Europe and parts of South America. His articles have appeared in Live Life Travel, International Living, Offbeat Travel and Travels Thru History Magazines.

Photographs:
Diane Gagnon is a freelance photographer who has traveled extensively in North America, the Caribbean, Europe and parts of South America. Her photographs have accompanied Troy Herrick’s articles in Live Life Travel, Offbeat Travel and Travel Thru History Magazines.
Glendalough – Priest’s House
Glendalough – Gateway
Glendalough – Cathedral
Glendalough – Caher
Glendalough – Reefert Church
Rock of Cashel – Cathedral and Round Tower
Rock of Cashel – Cathedral
View from the Rock of Cashel

The Air India Disaster: Ahakista, West Cork, Ireland

by Anna Marie D’Angelo

In a tiny village in southwest Ireland on the Atlantic is a memorial to the victims of the Air India bombing, Canada’s worst mass murder terrorist attack.

The memorial in West Cork’s tiny Ahakista village to 329 people who died on June 23, 1985 doesn’t seem to be known to many people in Ireland where tragedies are forever remembered in bronze works such as the Famine Memorial in Dublin.

Visiting the Air India memorial is not easy, and the usual response from people in Ireland was “never heard of it” and occasionally, “I remember something about that. When did it happen?” The memorial is not on any tour route nor do tour buses get close so I organized my visit through the hotel in Killarney where I was staying. Killarney is the largest town in the area and a major southern Ireland tourist spot. A local cabbie, who does customized tours, offered a flat rate for the day. The other option, and cheaper choice, would have been to rent a car.

On this August day, it had rained in the morning as it did almost everyday during my three-week stay in the Emerald Isle. But the sky soon opened up to brilliant warm sunshine shortly after we started the 1-1/2 hour drive.

We headed southeast along a portion of the beautiful Ring of Kerry route, on windy roads next to hills with scenic vistas of patchwork green valleys, edging the sparkling Atlantic. We travelled through the charming small towns of Kenmare, Glangariff and Bantry and on to Ahakista, which is on the Sheep Head’s peninsula in West Cork.

The trip was not for the faint at heart. Even with an experienced driver at the wheel, we had three close calls where the cabbie abruptly steered towards the edge of the road and slammed on the brakes to avoid an on-coming car visible in the tall greenery at the last minute. Driving in Ireland is on the left side and these roads were narrow with poor visibility.

When we finally arrived at the remote village, we drove past the small “Air Disaster Memorial” sign without noticing. Knowing that we had gone too far as in, next stop the Atlantic, we flagged a truck driver hauling a huge steel tank. He was slowly making his way around, picking up milk from farms. “The Air India one?” he immediately responded. “Go back up the road.”

Two Dubliners were walking down the path from the memorial. They said they saw the sign and remembered the tragedy from news reports. They acknowledged it was a nice tribute to the bombing victims.

The memorial includes a well kept with a sundial that commemorates the day and hour of jumbo jet’s explosion in the air. There is a low, stone, semi-circle wall with the names of the victims that appears to cup the sundial. (Picture 4)A tidy garden maintained by the village borders the path to the memorial, which is oriented towards the breezy, wide-open ocean.

After visiting this quiet, serene place, I checked out the wee village and its rustic Catholic church. Driver Moses Walsh took us back to Killarney along a different route, through the serpentine Healy Pass, where buses can’t travel. The pass is yet another route with hilly, seaside vistas that are amazing.

At one point, we had to stop for a flock of sheep across the road which gave the weathered sheepherder time to walk up to the van. He quickly fired off about a dozen personal questions in a sing-songy Irish accent including asking where were we from, where were we going and was I married. Driver Walsh had predicted we were going to be there a long time when the sheepherder headed towards us. Walsh was greatly relieved when another car came around the bend and the sheepherder had new people to question.

We continued along a portion of the equally beautiful Beara Peninsula. The relaxing day was rounded out with lunch at pub in the village of Glengarriff and visits to popular tourist stops: Killarney National Park with its impressive waterfall, and to Muckross House and Gardens, a Victorian mansion.

Background on the Air India Disaster

Air India Flight 182 departed from Vancouver to Toronto on the way to New Delhi and exploded in the air over Ireland on June 23, 1985, killing all 329 people on board. A huge search was carried out and half the bodies were recovered and taken ashore in Cork. The memorial in Ahakista was built a year later. No one has been convicted of this terrorist act, allegedly committed by Sikh extremists. [UPDATE: In 2003 Inderjit Singh Reyat, pleaded guilty to manslaughter and was sentenced to fifteen years in prison for assembling the bombs.]

If You Go:

♦ Killarney is the main city in the area which is famous for its lakes, mountains and scenic drives such as the Ring of Kerry.
♦ Killarney is a 4½ hour drive from Dublin. The train takes 3 ½ hours.
♦ To hire a taxi-van and driver for one day for a customized tour of the area costs from 180 to 240 euros ($225 – $300). The van holds seven passengers.

Tours from Killarney:

Dingle and Slea Head Day Tour from Killarney

Ring of Kerry and Skellig Experience Centre Day Trip from Killarney

Cliffs of Moher Private Tour from Killarney

About the author:
Anna Marie was a successful newspaper reporter and editor in the Vancouver area for 18 years. She now does Communications work and continues her writing passion through travel stories that have been published in major newspapers across Canada. Email: anna_dangelo@hotmail.com

All photos are by Anna Marie D’Angelo.

County Wicklow, Eire, Ireland

by J.M.Bridgeman

It is a sunny spring morning, perfect for a trip to Glendalough, an ancient “monastic city” set in a surround of Wicklow Mountains National Park, about an hour south of Dublin. Our local guide keeps us alert on the bus ride, pointing out the flora and fauna–the beauty of the yellow gorse which in other non-flowering seasons gets pelted with words such as weed, invasive, and noxious, the blossoming white thorn hedges, shades of green in the long vistas. As we zoom past farms and real estate signs, she chats about the state of the nation in this time of recession. “People cannot sell their properties; their mortgages are worth more than their houses. There is no longer a construction industry.”

We speed along the narrow roads. The jerk of the brakes make us appreciate our regular bus driver so much more. The price of gasoline as we flash by is twenty cents a litre higher than England or Scotland. But then again, these are Euros, not pounds. So what does it all mean?

“I bet everyone you meet has told you we are in a recession?” another guide had queried us.

“Yes, a recession,” we answer back obediently.

“Don’t believe them,” he asserted. “Don’t believe them. We are not in a recession. We are broke. Our three main industries,” the guide continues, “are agriculture, horse-breeding, and tourism. You might add to that,” she says, “the export of our young people who are snapped up by recruiters around the globe because they are reputed to be the best-educated youth in Europe.”

Indeed, education is part of the story of Glendalough, our destination. It was in places like this that learning was preserved on the westernmost edge of Europe during those dark centuries between the Roman Empire and the Renaissance.

“The Romans never did make it over to Ireland,” the guide informs us. “Pity”, she suggests. “Pity. They might have improved the roads.”

But the Roman church had crossed the choppy waters of the Irish Sea. Representatives had been dispatched from Rome in the 400s and the escaped slave Patrick had returned as a missionary in that same century. Glendalough was established in the early 500s by Coemgen (Caoimhin), St. Kevin. His Gaelic name means “fair-begotten.” Does it refer to his royal Irish birth or to his good looks? As a child, Kevin was tutored by Petroc of Cornwall, a Welsh-born Irish-educated saint. Kevin lived and studied with the monks and was eventually ordained himself.

Recession would not have daunted Kevin. He chose the life of an ascetic, moving to this glacial valley as a hermit, sleeping in a rock cave, on a flagstone bed, wearing the skins of animal friends, walking barefoot sole to ground, seclusion shielding him. Yet the world knew where to find him. It is said that witches bent on destruction he transformed to stone, and that a woman who tried to seduce him ended up in the lake. Responding to the demands pressed upon him, Glendalough became a seminary and Kevin fed his disciples with salmon fished for him by a benevolent otter. His hermitage had become a place of pilgrimage, a destination.

What compels me to forgo another day in Dublin for this side trip into the country? Being neither Irish nor Catholic nor even very religious, what can explain my interest in, my attraction to, this site? I have been to one of these ancient monasteries before–to Clonmacnoise on the River Shannon. Is it nostalgia, for that much earlier life-changing visit? It was from the friend who guided me to Clonmacnoise that I learned how to pronounce Glendalough. Glen da lock (loch). Not loo; it does not rhyme with slough, as I had incorrectly assumed that first time. Glenn da locha, the valley of the two lakes. The two communities were connected in the sixth century, by the friendship of Ceiran and Kevin. Both locations feature thirty-metre-tall round towers, thought to have been used like beacons, for navigating, as bell towers to signal distress, as safe storage for valuables such as psalters and illuminated manuscripts, and as places of refuge during times of attack. The monasteries include hermit cells, probably the only constructs that either saint actually touched. St. Kevin’s is a cave above the lake. The chapel, St. Kevin’s Kitchen, the rest of the existing ruins, date from between the ninth and twelfth centuries.

Both monasteries contain a collection of ruined buildings with designations such as cathedral, church, chapel, along with a profusion of Celtic crosses and gravestones. Here those who found a community while living are surrounded still in a community of the dead. Both sites have high crosses–the Cross of the Scriptures at Clonmacnoise and St. Kevin’s Cross at Glendalough, and evidently, a second high cross, the Market Cross, in the visitor centre.

Perhaps what propels me to Glendalough can be attributed to the romance of ruins. Or is it the literal tug of history, of grey moss-munched stones informed by human hands? Or to the way we make meaning from metaphor. In this human habitation which has been here more than 1500 years is an image of transience. Our days, the days of our civilizations, are measured, brief. What comes from the earth returns to the earth, and the earth remains. Or perhaps it is remnants of my personal New Age past whose spirituality and sense of the sacred still infuse my daily breath? Or is it simply trusting in the wisdom of the ancients who felt and responded to the pull of place, to the power of those forces which make some locations special? Because what St. Kevin built here, his refuge, nature altered by human hands, is not so much separated from contact with the world as it is connected to creation, its communicants living in peace, living in beauty.

Just outside the double-arched gateway is a midway of tents and caravans. Linen tea towels, woolen “jumpers,” potato scones, postcards. Today the market of souvenir and food vendors does not even make me think of the temple and the moneylenders. After all, everyone has to eat, and it is a recession, and loaves and fishes no longer magically appear.

Irish poet Seamus Heaney in “St. Kevin and the Blackbirds,” retells the tale of how a blackbird nested in the saint’s upturned palm, on his outstretched arm, as he prayed, here, and how Kevin stayed immobile “until the young are hatched and fledged and flown.”

And since the whole thing’s imagined anyhow,” Heaney goes on, “Imagine being Kevin. . . . Does he still feel his knees? Or has the shut-eyed blank of underearth crept up through him? ‘To labour and not to seek reward,’ he prays, // A prayer his body makes entirely / For he has forgotten self . . .”

It isn’t until I get home to my computer, upload my photographs, and zoom in, that I see the blackbirds in the green.

Private Day Tour of Wicklow and Glendalough from Dublin

Getting There:

I went on an optional side trip organized as part of my fast and furious group bus tour through England, Scotland, Northern Ireland, Ireland, and Wales [Trafalgar British and Irish Delight]. Other visitors arrived by car and taxi, from Dublin, via Annamoe or Laragh. For details about travelling to Glendalough and Wicklow Mountains National Park, visit www.glendalough.ie, www.visitwicklow.ie or www.megalithicireland.com which offer a bit more information about the monastic city.

Wicklow Day Trip with Guided Walk including Glendalough Tour from Dublin

Photo credits:
Top Glendalough photo by Dimitry Anikin on Unsplash
All other photographs are by J.M. Bridgeman:
Glendalough round tower and moss-munched gravestones
St. Kevin’s Kitchen (so-called because the bell tower looks like a chimney)
St. Kevin’s Cross
The double-arched gateway with vendors beyond, gorse in bloom
Ruins from the parking lot, Wicklow Mountains beyond, blackbirds on the lawn

About the author:
J.M. (Joan) Bridgeman was born in Rivers and grew up on a farm near Oak River, Manitoba. Her travels overseas to Ireland, England, and Scotland are quests for mythic and familial connections which also touch upon her passions for geology, history, and literature. J.M. has been writing for publication, dozen of book reviews, articles, poems, and profiles, since 1980. Her non-fiction book Here In Hope: A Natural History was published by Oolichan in 2002. She blogs somewhat sporadically at www.earthabridge.blogspot.ca/ and has posted her creative non-fiction Dancing With Ghosts: A Cross-Cultural Education, a personal exploration of racism and human rights in Canada, at www.dancingwithghostsaneducation.blogspot.ca. Email: earthabridge@gmail.com

Kinsale, Ireland

by Keith Kellett

I think Desmond Castle is the first one I ever visited that stood, not on the top of a hill, or in beautiful gardens, but in a street of houses. It dates from around the late 15th/early 16th Century, and is, actually, a ‘fortified tower house’, with spacious store-rooms.

When the castle was built, Kinsale was a busy port, doing much trade with the Continent, and King Henry VII had granted Maurice Fitzgerald, Earl of Desmond the right to impose a levy on incoming cargoes … especially wine! For this reason, Desmond Castle had the alternative name of the Custom House. The Desmonds rebelled against the Crown in the late 16th Century, so lost this right, along with their lands. Shortly afterwards, the castle figured in what was to become known as the Nine Years War.

England had been claiming sovereignty over Ireland since the 12th Century, but it wasn’t till the 16th Century that measures began to be seriously taken to this end. The Irish, naturally, wanted none of it, and their rebellion escalated to an all-out war. King Felipe III of Spain saw an opportunity here to take a little payback for the defeat of the Spanish Armada earlier, as well as a chance to divert English forces from the Continent, especially the Netherlands, which was engaged in a long rebellion against Spanish rule.

He sent men and materials to Kinsale. They landed there in October 1601, where they fought valiantly in defense of the town against English forces. Eventually, though, they had to surrender, and were honourably treated, and allowed to return to Spain with their colours still flying.

At this time, it is believed that the castle was used as a powder magazine by the Spanish, but following their defeat, was used as a Custom House again.

In the 17th and 18th Centuries, the castle was used as a prison for Spanish and French PoWs during a succession of Continental wars. It even housed a few American prisoners from the War of Independence. In between wars, it was used to house ‘home grown’ felons, until the 1840s, when it became a Famine Relief Centre and a workhouse, then used for various military purposes until it fell into disuse.

Now in the care of the Office of Public Works, it’s home to … the International Wine Museum!

An American travel writer once told me that Ireland only has one vineyard, which she visited some years back. I shan’t repeat her opinion of the wine, for I’ve never had any, so can’t say whether I agree with her or not.

The Wine Museum mainly commemorates the fact that, over the years, there’s been much emigration from Ireland, fleeing from unsuccessful rebellions, famines or just in search of a better life. These emigrants were often shown as ‘wild geese’ on ships’ manifests, so that the shipowners who carried them avoided displeasure at a practice which was officially frowned upon, if not illegal. So, they became known by this name.

Some of these emigrant families either established vineyards or otherwise engaged themselves in the wine trade … the name of Hennesey is probably the most familiar … thus were dubbed the ‘Wine Geese’

In most places where wine is made, even today, there’s at least one family of Irish descent there … and all are commemorated in this museum.

Cobh Shore Excursion: Blarney Castle, Cork City and Kinsale Private Tour

If You Go:

Kinsale is on the Irish coast, about 12 miles south of the city of Cork. It has no railway station, so, if you don’t have a car, the only practicable way to reach it is by taxi or bus from there.

However, Cork does have an airport, which can be reached from most airports in Ireland, and some in the United Kingdom and Europe. (www.corkairport.com)

It is also possible to get to Cork by rail (www.irishrail.ie) or long-distance bus (http://www.buseireann.ie) Accommodation of all kinds is plentiful. This can be arranged through the Tourist Office kinsaletio@failteireland.ie or telephone (+353)(0)21 4772234. Information at www.discoverireland.ie.

Desmond Castle: Cork Street, Kinsale. Tel: (+353)(0)21 4774855 email desmondcastle@opw.ie Admission charge (2011) €3.The castle is in the care of the Office of Public Works, and, if you wish to visit a number of their sites in Ireland, you might consider buying their Heritage Card (2011 price: €21) Details at www.heritageireland.ie

About the author:
Having written as a hobby for many years while serving in the Royal Air Force, Keith Kellett saw no reason to discontinue his hobby when he retired. With time on his hands, he produced more work, and found, to his surprise, it ‘grew and grew’ and was good enough to finance his other hobbies; traveling, photography and computers. He is trying hard to prevent it from becoming a full-time job! He has published in many UK and overseas print magazines, and on the Web. He is presently trying to get his head around blogging, podcasting and video. keith-kellett@tinyworld.co.uk

All photos are by Keith Kellett.

Ireland

by Ken McGoogan

300,000 people are set for the Gathering in Ireland. Some will be tracing their ancestors. Others will come to see the monasteries, or to follow in the footsteps of the writer James Joyce. Many will make their way to the Guinness Storehouse, where visitors journey through the 250-year history of Guinness and finish up in the Gravity Bar, free pint in hand, looking out over the City of Dublin.

Ireland is getting set for 2013. Every town, village, and hamlet looks to be preparing for The Gathering, a year-long celebration of all things Irish. Tourism Ireland is anticipating that more than 300,000 visitors will turn up, among them tens of thousands of Canadians. If you intend to become one of them, I’ve got good news for you, and maybe a few ideas.

My wife, Sheena, and I recently spent three weeks rambling around the Emerald Isle, our third visit in past few years. We had been hearing that Ireland was in the doldrums as a result of the recession in Europe. So what surprised us most was the vitality, energy, and good humour.

We started in Dublin, where Grafton Street has become a pedestrian mall. On any afternoon or evening, here we encountered a carnival atmosphere: people going both ways in streams or else standing in circles, entranced by one of the jugglers, musicians, comedians, or acrobats. At the foot of Grafton, we had no trouble finding the risque statue of that fictional fishmonger Molly Malone. The locals call it “the tart with the cart.” Turns out every statue and even the new Spire has a nickname, though most are unprintable.

A couple of blocks east, the pubs in the colourful Temple Bar area were invariably heading for lift-off at what usually we consider bed time. The same was true even of the uptown pubs around St. Stephen’s Green. But, hey, we were on holiday, we love Irish music, and sure, we gravitated to O’Donohue’s on Merrion Row. The liveliness would keep growing, apparently, until 2 or 3 in the morning.

Having decided to splurge on one fine meal, we headed for Hugo’s Restaurant, kitty-corner across the street from O’Donohue’s (yes, that was how the night began). This five-star eatery is rightly renowned for its wine list (30 varieties by the glass), but it also provides outstanding food and service. Most entrees cost 20 to 23 Euros, or $25 to $30 Canadian dollars. Later, we also got good value at Peploe’s Wine Bistro (slightly cheaper) and One Pico (more expensive), and in the Temple Bar area at Eden.

Our original must-see list included Christ Church Cathedral, founded in 1030; Trinity College and the Book of Kells; the National Museum (that Viking skeleton has to be seven feet long); and the National Gallery, which rightly devotes a room to the work of Jack B. Yeats.

Dublin is a writers’ city. Ireland has a population of just over six million, combined north-south, yet four Irish authors have won the Nobel Prize: William Butler Yeats, George Bernard Shaw, Samuel Beckett, and Seamus Heaney. We started at the Dublin Writers Museum to get a feel for the tradition, and then walked down the hill to the James Joyce Centre, and went on one of the numerous Dubliners walk.

We made a couple of sorties from Dublin that, even if we weren’t driving, would have been feasible by bus (details at the Tourism Office just off Grafton Street). The first outing takes you south 90 minutes to Glendalough, a lakeside monastic centre. At the visitor’s centre, there’s a 20-minute video worth catching, Ireland of the Monasteries.

The stone buildings here date from 500 A.D., when a monk called Saint Kevin settled into a cave and spent seven years wearing animal skins and communing with birds and small mammals. Walking along the lake to the ruins is half the fun, as one of the glories of Glendalough is its situation between two picturesque lakes in a forested valley. You can see why Saint Kevin chose this spot to go hermit, and also why throngs of fellow monks turned up and put an end to his solitude.

The second outing takes you north to Bru Na Boinne, which comprises three neolithic monuments but is best known by the name of one of them: Newgrange. It is near a town called Drogheda, again just 90 minutes by bus. Built around 3200 B.C., or one thousand years before Stonehenge, Newgrange is the finest Stone Age passage tomb in Ireland, and one of the most evocative prehistoric sites in Europe.

After passing through a superb visitor’s centre, we arrived at a stone-built dome, excavated for access, that is 80 metres in diameter and 13 metres high. To stand inside the ancient, high-ceilinged cavern and have the guide shut the doors behind you is an experience we won’t forget. Of the two sister sites, Knowth and Dowth, the former affords a parallel experience, while the latter, not open to the public, offers a spectacular view to those willing to scramble to the top.

If You Go:

Driving in Ireland: From Skellig Michael to the Bronze Age

For us North Americans, it seems the Irish drive on the wrong side of the road. But once you’ve adjusted, you’ll swear that “hiring” a car was the best decision you ever made. The distances in Ireland are as nothing. And the landscape is one of the most enchanting in the world.

Ten days would serve you well. But if you have one week, you can still circle the island. Why not head south out of Dublin and proceed clockwise. Here’s few ideas that will take you off the beaten path.

If you visit Waterford, I suggest overnighting at Castlemartyr, a five-star resort 25 km east of Cork? We lucked into it, and suddenly found ourselves in a spectacular 18th-century manor house, expanded and elegantly appointed. It’s situated on an estate that offers archery, boating, walled gardens, an 18-hole golf course, and a magnificent spa and fitness centre with a 25-metre pool. A short country walk takes you to the ruins of a castle built 800 years ago for the Knights Templar. Rooms start at 165 Euros ($212 Canadian), though special rates turn up on the Internet. You won’t want to leave.

You might drive to the city of Cork and nearby Cobh (pronounced “cove”), the last port of call for the Titanic. A new museum takes you through “the Titanic experience,” using a multi-media recreation that starts with the ship’s departure. You experience the prideful welcome, explore the comfortable accommodations, and ultimately go through the dramatic sinking that happened April 12, 1912.

Directly ahead, one hour and twenty minutes away, you find one of the world’s great drives: the Ring of Kerry. From Killarney, the road takes you past abbeys, castles, and picturesque cottages, and offers fantastic views of cliffs and ocean. You can’t miss the dramatic Skellig Michael, a rocky island 12 km off the coast. Designated a UNESCO World Heritage site, it features a number of beehive meditation huts perched on a ledge 600 feet above the waves.

Christian monks and hermits built these stone huts between the 7th and 12th centuries. Given good weather, you can reach them by jumping aboard a local tour boat and climbing 600 narrow, steep steps. That people came out here to stay for months and even years boggles the mind. If you can’t get onto the island, as we couldn’t, you might want to investigate the Skellig Experience Centre on Valentia Island, which is accessible by bridge.

The town of Dingle, just over an hour from Killarney, is colourful, bustling, and sophisticated enough to have charmed such visitors as Paul Simon, Dolly Parton and Julia Roberts. We strolled the winding, hilly streets lined with craft shops, restaurants, and pubs. Deidre’s Cafe on Orchard Lane serves a superb seafood chowder with brown bread, and the jam-covered scones aren’t bad either. Dingle harbour is home to Fungie the Dolphin, and if you get onto the water for a short cruise, he will probably turn up to cavort alongside your boat. Really.

You should plan to visit the Aran Islands, a group of three islands at the mouth of Galway Bay. A passenger ferry operates from Rossaveal, 40 km west of Galway. On Inishmore, the largest of the islands, all of which are subdivided by countless walls of stone, you will buy a handknit sweater or suffer life-long regret. Grab a local taxi to a path that leads to Dun Aengus, which has been called “the most magnificent barbaric monument in Europe.”

As you wend your way up the hill, the walled site looks like a stone fortress straight out of the Iron Age, and is sometimes identified as such. Recent research, however, puts people here in 1500 B.C., during the Bronze Age. To the west, facing out over the Atlantic, the wall has long since tumbled into the sea. Looking in that direction is like gazing across an infinity pool. If you get on your stomach and approach the edge, you can look straight down and see waves crashing into rocks 100 metres below.

Back on the mainland, call in at Bushmill’s Distillery, get a taste of Irish whiskey, and then go swinging across an eighty-foot chasm using the Carrick-a-rede rope bridge. From a bit farther east, at a spot called Fair Head, you can gaze across the water at the Mull of Kintyre, just 20 km north.

The number one attraction on the north coast is the Giant’s Causeway, another UNESCO World Heritage Site. It’s not exactly off the beaten track, but this amazing phenomenon comprises 40,000 interlocking basalt columns created 60 million years ago by volcanic eruption. The tops of the hexagonal columns form what look like stepping stones sloping down into the sea, and have inspired a vast mythology.

If you venture beyond the columns to visit the rock formations known as the Giant’s Shoe and the Organ Pipes, you will encounter signs insisting that the path ahead provides no access to the Causeway Centre. But if you like spectacular views and don’t mind a hike, you can safely ignore those signs and follow the switchbacks up the cliff. When the path abruptly ends, climb the Shepherd’s Steps (162 of them) and make your way west along a field-skirting footpath to the highway. That highway does provide access to the Causeway Centre, and there your chariot awaits.

Popular Ireland Tours:

Dingle and Fungie Dolphin Boat Tour from Killarney

Fast-Track Guinness and Jameson Irish Whiskey Experience Tour in Dublin

Private Day Tour of Wicklow and Glendalough from Dublin

Newgrange and Hill of Tara Private Guided Tour from Dublin

Giants causeway and Game of thrones filming locations bus tour

Private Tour of The Dingle Peninsula

About the author:
Ken McGoogan is the author of How The Scots Invented Canada. Follow his blog at: www.kenmcgoogan.blogspot.com

Photographs are by Sheena Fraser McGoogan.

Ireland and Scotland

by Troy Herrick

After six years, I arrived in Dublin under gray overcast skies. The quest was about to be completed; the circle was about to be closed and loose ends tied together. With the Indiana Jones theme playing in my mind, I was all set to gaze upon the most decorated manuscript to survive from the Early Middle Ages in Europe – the Book of Kells.

Old Library, Trinity College Dublin – 2012

Anticipation slowly rose as I traversed each room, stopping to read every detail about this holy book and its convoluted history. Entering the dimly lit Treasury Room at the end of the hall, I discovered four books displayed inside a glass case. The Book of Kells, divided into two tomes, was accompanied by the Book of Durrow and the Book of Armagh. Clearly the jewel in the crown was the four Gospels assembled into the Book of Kells.

Visitors see four vellum pages of this ancient manuscript – one volume open at a major decorated page and the other open to show two text pages with smaller decorations. As I studied the detail of each image with naked eye, I wished that I had a magnifying glass to better appreciate the complexity of design. I envisioned cross-eyed monks drawing each image using only a quill.

As many as ten different colours have been utilized in these illustrations. Many of these pigments had been imported from the farthest corners of the world almost 1200 years ago. The lapis lazuli in particular came from the area that is now present-day Afghanistan. One can only imagine the exorbitant cost of these paints given that this region of Europe was at the end of the trade routes. Furthermore the island of Iona in Scotland, where work on the Book of Kells began, was quite isolated at that time. Suddenly I had a flashback to the island of Iona in Scotland.

Iona, Scotland – 2006

A chilly wind and a gray overcast sky greeted Diane and me as we set foot on Iona, the birthplace of Christianity in Scotland. St Columba (Colmcille) and twelve companions founded the first monastery here in 563 CE. Almost nothing remains of that original settlement because it had been replaced by St. Mary’s Cathedral, a Benedictine abbey church dating to 1200 CE. You might be surprised to find that this is a working abbey today, operated by an ecumenical community known as the Iona Commonwealth.

Set outside the abbey church to the left of the front door, you find a little greyish brown stone building known as St. Columba’s Shrine. Reconstructed in 1962, the lower portion of this structure may date to the 8th century. Tradition holds that St. Columba’s relics were once housed in this structure (he died in 597 CE and his relics were divided between Scotland and Ireland).

A short distance in front of St. Columba’s Shrine, you find St. John’s Cross. This is a copy of an 8th century high cross displayed in the nearby Monks’ Infirmary now serving as a museum. The original cross was painstakingly reconstructed from fragments found on site. Another item of note in the museum is St. Columba’s Pillow, a stone with a ringed cross carved into it. This treasure is stored inside a small metal cage. There is no proof that the saint’s head ever rested on this pillow however.

Also associated with 8th century Iona is the Book of Kells. Columban monks began transcribing the Gospels around the year 800 CE but never completed them on site. The monks were displaced from Iona in 802 CE when Vikings torched the monastery. Returning to Ireland accompanied by their precious work-in-progress, the monks settled in Kells in 804 CE to re-establish another Columban monastery founded by the saint in 550 CE. Almost twelve centuries later, Diane and I followed them to the Emerald Isle and Kells.

Kells, County Meath, Ireland – 2012

It was déjà vu all over again; a chilly wind and a gray overcast sky greeted Diane and me at St. Columba’s Church in Kells. This church, set on the site of the original Monastery of Kells, dates to 1778. The churchyard also contains a number of high crosses and a 26-meter round tower all dating back to the early monastic period and the arrival of the Book of Kells.

Round towers were a symbol of a monastery’s power in early Ireland, often serving as bell towers and repositories for sacred items. At the same time, the “conspicuous” towers identified monasteries as attractive targets for the pagan Vikings. The Norsemen raided the monastery at Kells several times during the 10th century.

During times of attack, the monks retreated inside the round tower through an entrance 3-4 meters off the ground and then pulled up the ladder. Paradoxically these towers do not appear to be very defensible because all the Vikings had to do was build a large fire below the doorway and smoke the occupants out.

History does not record that the Book of Kells was ever part of any Viking booty but it was stolen by the locals in 1009 from a small church that once existed in the churchyard. The book was eventually recovered but the cover was damaged beyond repair and had to be replaced.

Learning their lesson, the monks constructed St. Colmcille’s House across the street from the present day churchyard as a more secure location for their precious manuscript and the relics of St. Columba. This dimly lit, empty stone building served as a monk’s dwelling and a scriptorium. The monk’s sleeping quarters in the loft above is still accessible by ladder.

The holy book remained in Kells for over 800 years until 1653 when it was transferred to Trinity College in Dublin. Since the mid 19th century, the Book of Kells has been on public display in the Old Library and now Diane and I had the opportunity to see this historical treasure in Dublin and complete the quest.

Boyne Valley Hill of Tara and Kells Private Tour from Dublin

If You Go:

The Book of Kells Exhibition is located in the Old Library at Trinity College in Dublin. Admission was 9 Euros. Check out the Trinity College website for more details. Visitors are not permitted to photograph the Book of Kells.

Purchase the Heritage Island Tour Guide at the nearest Tourist Information Office for a discounted admission to the Book of Kells exhibit. www.heritageisland.com

Admission to Iona Abbey is £4.70

St. Columba’s Church of Ireland is located on R 163 in the center of Kells, just west of the intersection of N3 and N52. Admission to the churchyard is free.

St. Colmcille’s House – for admission, follow the directions provided on the gate. Admission is free but a tip is customary. For more information about Ireland, visit www.plan-a-dream-trip.com/discover-ireland.html. and Scotland, visit www.plan-a-dream-trip.com/scotland-tours.html Plan your vacation at: www.plan-a-dream-trip.com

Photographs:

All photographs are by Diane Gagnon. A freelance photographer, she has traveled extensively in North America, the Caribbean, Europe and parts of South America.

Contributor’s Bio:

Troy Herrick, a freelance travel writer, has traveled extensively in North America, the Caribbean, Europe and parts of South America. His articles have appeared in Live Life Travel, International Living, Offbeat Travel and Travels Thru History Magazines. He also penned the travel planning e-book entitled ”Turn Your Dream Vacation into Reality: A Game Plan for Seeing the World the Way You Want to See It” – www.thebudgettravelstore.com/page/76972202 based on his own travel experiences over the years. Herrick’s articles are in Live Life Travel, Offbeat Travel and Travel Thru History magazines.

Exploring Celtic History in Ireland

by Becky Garrison

During my first trek to Ireland, I decided to visit Glendalough Valley, one of Ireland’s most popular destinations. While the monks abandoned “Monastic City” centuries ago as a result of political and religious upheavals,” the remains of a 6th century Christian monastic settlement founded by St. Kevin remain the centerpiece of this town. These hand-built stone structures give a glimpse into a way of life and prayer with an emphasis on stark simplicity and an intimate connection to one’s natural surroundings.

I entered Monastic City via the Gateway, the ruins of a two-story building with a cross-inscribed stone on the west wall. Then I circled around small piles of stones where the Cathedral, the Priest’s House, St. Kieran’s Church and St. Kevin’s Kitchen once stood.

After I toured the ruins of Monastic City, surveyed the 98-foot high Round Tower, and walked around the two lakes (glean dá locha means literally “glen of the two lakes”), the touristy chatter started to get on my nerves. I almost hopped on the afternoon bus back to Dublin until I remembered that my room at Glendalough International Hostel was already charged to my credit card.

Stuck in Glendalough, I grabbed a quick late lunch from a local food cart and set out for a late-afternoon five-mile hike on Miner’s Road. This route took me by the two lakes toward the ruins of an 18th century mining village that closed down in 1965. Rows of purple heather greeted me with pine trees serving as an umbrella to shade me from the sun. Finally I got to sample paradise almost all by myself.

En route, I glanced out at the hole in the rock called “St. Kevin’s Bed,” a seven-by-three-foot cave located about 26 feet above the lake. According to lore, an angel showed him this site though given the inaccessibility of his bed, one wonders how Kevin managed to ever leave this hole. Like other good hermits, he lived off the land, consuming herbs and fish. Legend has it that as part of his prayer routine, he would stand in ice-cold water up to his neck. While stories abound recounting Kevin’s unbridled kindness toward animals, this nature lover had a major dislike of women. According to rumor, he dealt with an amorous woman by pushing her into a bed of nettles.

While I doubt I would enjoy meeting such an ornery coot face-to-face, I soaked in Kevin’s spirit by walking along the mossy banks. I capped off the evening by heading into the nearby town and my first pint of Guinness on Irish soil.

The next morning stopped by the Glendalough Visitors Centre where I bought a trail map. As I surveyed some of the 50,000 acres comprising the Wicklow Mountains National Park, I could see the pine-covered, mossy mountains off in the distance. They appeared to be grinning at me like a Cheshire cat daring me to set out on one of the treacherous climbs not recommended for solo travelers.

“You know you want it.”

“If you thought the Upper Lake was remarkable, you ain’t seen nuttin’ yet.”

The adventurer in me contemplated climbing my own personal Mount Everest, but I let my head win this battle and chose to hike the Poulanass and St. Kevin’s Cell route. This moderate one mile grade trail would take me by the Poulanass Waterfall and the site of St. Kevin’s cell. Once I got embedded deep into the purple heather, I took off my shoes. With each step, the moss encircled my feet, as though to provide me with a pair of nature’s own slippers. Along the way, I ended up taking a short detour to further explore the Poulanass Waterfall and Plunge Pools. (The name Poulanass is taken from the Irish poll an eas which is translated “hole of the waterfall.”)

After I climbed down, I stopped by a shack located at the foot of Upper Lake for a quick snack and then set off on the Green Road Walk. This flat mile long trail that meandered around the oak woodlands and then continued to the edge of Lower Lake. Along the way, I passed by the outskirts of Monastic City where I saw more busloads of tourists, most of whom seemed more intent on taking photographs of stones than actually walking on Kevin’s soil. Hopefully some of them will leave the city for the hills and have their own encounter with Kevin.

My day concluded with a walk to the neighboring town where I capped off my mini pilgrimage with my second pint of Guinness. Cheers to Kevin.

If You Go:

For additional information about setting out on a pilgrimage to Ireland, log on Discover Ireland
History of the Glendalough and Glendasan Mines (Luganure)

Private Day Tour of Wicklow and Glendalough from Dublin

About the author:
Becky Garrison is a freelance writer who has authored six books with a seventh book in development. In addition to penning a book on pilgrimages for Zondervan (a subsidiary of Harper Collins), she has written articles about destination travel and travel products for several publications, including 52 Perfect Days, Yahoo, Sportsology.net and Killing the Buddha. http://about.me/BeckyGarrison

All photographs are by Becky Garrison.

Welcoming the Return of the Sun at the Spring Equinox

by Mara Baudais

I was soaked. The rain and wind had not let up all day. I had a brief respite from both as I boarded the small bus from the Visitor Centre which had taken our group to Newgrange*, a huge megalithic passage tomb. The Visitor Centre acts as a gateway to the Bru na Boinne area, the bend of the Boyne river. In this area lie three Neolithic (4000-2500 BC) Passage Tombs—Newgrange, Dowth and Knowth built over an area of 10 square kilometres—Newgrange, the most famous, Dowth, still unexcavated and Knowth, the largest. Five thousand years ago thirty eight passage tombs were built. The area became known as Bru na Boinne– the cemetery of the Boine. The river, Boine, considered sacred, encircles the area on three sides giving great protection. These structures look out from a black slate glacially created ridge seventy metres higher than the glacial valley through which the Boyne River runs. The warmest part of Ireland, the land boasted of three types of soil: clay, gravel and slate, all fertile. Variety of soil types meant that neither excessive drought nor rain would be a crisis. Six thousand years ago Ireland’s first farmers arrived, cut down trees and planted barley and wheat as the main crop. They also raised sheep, pigs, cattle– much like today’s farmers do. Abundance meant wealth and extra time to devote to the building of great monuments, numerous auxiliary smaller structures, the development of advanced social ritual and probably the development of astronomical ideas and rituals which were tied to astronomy.

Knowth, specifically, was first established in the early Neolithic six thousand years ago. First settlement is the ancient remains of a wooden/wattle rectangular enclosure with probably a thatched roof. Knowth is one thousand years older than Stonehenge, England and five hundred years older than the Pyramids of Giza in Egypt yet most people have never heard of it. The first use of the tombs was marked by cremated human bones and other material inside and elaborate ceremonies outside.

There is little evidence of the use of Knowth for the Bronze and Iron Ages, but in the first few centuries AD there is evidence of a new settlement. The mound itself became a defended structure with two dug ditches, like moats. There was only one protected entrance on the south-east and burials were placed around its base.

By AD 800 Knowth became a royal residence of the kingdom of North Brega. Now there were rectangular houses, underground storage areas. In the late twelfth century Anglo-Normans made further fortifications atop the large mound.

Knowth’s most impressive passage tomb is a great grass-covered mound measuring 80m by 95m. It is encircled by 127 kerbstones, a ring of engraved huge stones. Our word ‘curb’ must come from the same idea of being marked as a boundary. Passage tombs have certain features: being in the shape of an egg, or tumulus; being outlined by kerbstones, having a passageway and also an inner chamber often in the shape of a crude cross.

One of Knowth’s outstanding features is the huge amount of decorative stone work on the interior passageway stones and on the kerbstones. Knowth holds more than half of the six hundred decorated stones in the Bru na Boinne sites—this being over one quarter of all the megalithic art in Europe.

There is evidence that the art developed over many centuries and also ideas were apparently borrowed from Britanny on the continent. A picked cup mark is a feature of Knowth stones and may well represent the idea of a tunnel, a symbol of death. Also, unlike Newgrange, the stone work is developed based on the shape of the rock itself.

Under this large mound are two passage tombs, back to back. One faces west, has a 32m passage and a rectangular chamber. The other faces east, has a passage 35m long and ends in a cross shaped chamber. Since the exploration of this passage tomb in l967, there has been speculation and debate between scholars of prehistoric structures and archaeologists as to whether the eastern passage was aligned to the spring equinox, March 20th, and the western passage, aligned to the autumn equinox, September 22nd. Martin Brennan, a scholar, maintains that the chambers may have been aligned to also receive moon beams and that lunar images do appear on some of the inner stones. A large area of cement and metal which is supposedly shoring up part of the entranceway interferes with any proper investigation at this time. It is unknown when any true investigation as to the spring equinox is planned for the near future, especially with a sister passage tomb, Dowth, still needing to be excavated.

Still burdened with my pull-along bag, my pack sack and umbrella I entered the mound through the entrance which faced east. I slowly made my way along the stoned passageway to the crude cross-shaped chamber, delighting in the subtle light and the energy of the countless many who had also walked as I now did. What will be revealed in the years to come?

Beginning from the east a long gravelled pathway, constructed since the mound’s excavation, reached the top of the mound. Buffeted by wind and rain I made my way up to the flattened top of the mound, the wind again turning my umbrella inside out. I looked out over the Bru na Boinne valley, the river and in the distance I could see Newgrange rising out of the distant grassland. Yes, this was another of those moments in Eternity where I could feel my Irish ancestors walking beside me, hear their voices and feel their touch. I, too, will be back.

*Read the author’s ‘Newgrange: Bringing In the Light With the Winter Solstice’ at https://travelthruhistory.com/html/memoirs33.html.

Castle & Curiosities of the Boyne Valley

If You Go:

Knowth, as with the other passage tombs, cannot be directly accessed. You must be on a guided tour that sets off from the Bru na Boinne Visitor Centre by bus. You reach the centre itself by local bus, bicycle or car.

To Get to the Centre:
From Dublin: M1 motorway heading north and turn onto Donore Exit near Drogheda. Travel 6 km to Donore, turn right near the bar and restaurant, travel l km to the Visitor Centre or take a day tour that leaves from Dublin.
From Drogheda: Bus Eireann runs a bus to the Visitor’s Centre. It takes 20 minutes and runs from l0:15am to 4pm.

Other Sites To See:
Newgrange: Another Passage Tomb close to Knowth; associated with the Winter Solstice
Dowth: a lesser of the three Passage Tombs in the same area, yet to be fully excavated
Hill of Tara: 15 km from Newgrange and Knowth; a Passage Tomb known as the ‘Mound of the Hostages’; thought to be where Scotland’s ancient kings were crowned.

About the author:
Mara writes creative non-fiction, travelogues, short philosophical essays and poetry. These are mainly based on traveling and/or a deeply insightful experience. Besides extensively traveling in Europe, she has visited North Africa, Thailand, Nepal, Israel, Turkey, China, Inner Mongolia, Tibet, Sri Lanka after the tsunami, Guatemala, Canada (coast to coast), local areas of the B.C. coast and the Yukon. She has recently returned from a six month trip that stretched from Great Britain to the Black Sea. A photographer, artist, teacher and writer Mara Baudais can be reached at m_baudais@yahoo.ca

Photo credits:
Photographs by Mara Baudais (#1,#3). Also: Megalithic art by fhwrdh (Flickr); Kerbstone by miss libertine (Flickr), Knowth entrance stone by Jule Berlin (Flickr)

Bringing In The Light With The Winter Solstice

by Mara Baudais

I struggled against the wind and rain as I carried a knapsack and pulled a suitcase up the steep incline from the parking lot towards Newgrange, one of the Passage Burial Tombs in east coastal Ireland. My red umbrella continued to turn inside out. I felt constantly confronted yet also exhilarated with this fierce encounter with an early autumn storm.

Rising seventy metres on a black shale bench above the glacial silt plains of the River Boyne sit three megalithic tombs of the Neolithic or Late Stone Age also known as Passage Tombs or burial tombs. They date around 4000-2500 BC – Newgrange, Knowth and Dowth being the major ones – and are situated midway down the east side of Ireland.

They were built up to 6000 years ago in an area already settled by farmers in a very fertile area of Ireland. Part of this geographical island lying in the Bend of the Boyne, Bru na Boinne, was clay soil, another part gravel soil and yet another, slate like. The varied soil types meant that neither extreme drought nor rainfall could destroy all the crops. It had built-in weather safeguard. It was also a more protected, drier part of Ireland in general. The consistency of the climate gave rise to farmers who became increasingly wealthy and who, with the storage of varied crops, could afford the luxury of surplus time and energy to focus on extra non-productive activities such as the building of great stone monuments and other smaller stone structures. Practices, over time, were part of a cult of honoring dead tribal leaders which probably included rich ceremonial social interaction. Legend says the tomb was dedicated to Dagha, the sun god of pre-Christian times and later became the burial spot for the pagan kings of Tara only fifteen km away.

Passage Tombs have several common features: a mound in the shape of an egg called a tumulus. It is 85 meters across, 13 meters high and covers one acre. It is defined by a ring or kerb of 97 stones, a passage way and a chamber. I knew without doubt that this is where we got our word, curb which has the same basic use today – to define a certain boundary The building of the three Passage Tombs above the River Boyne seems to have developed over several hundreds of years, the design finally climaxing in the shaping of a cross. With a central space at the end of the passage way it also has a chamber on each side and also beyond it, making a very crude cross shape.

These Passage Tombs are known to be burial-places built from huge rocks. The passage way is built of large upright stones known as orthostats, averaging l0m in height and lead to a burial chamber. Both the 24m-long passage and burial chambers are roofed by large lintels or roof stones which fit into exact place. In Newgrange Passage Tomb the roof is held in place by the weight of the mound and the alternating layers of stone and sod which extend over the entire tomb. The entrance faces south-east. Kerb stones, 3 metres by l metre, laid end to end, keep back the earth and stone around the perimeter of these tombs. Artistic designs – usually circles, spirals, zigzags and triangles – are etched into their surface. I marveled that after all the past centuries these designs are still very clear.

It is also thought that since such immense energy and time was given to the etching on these stones that some sort of celebratory social ritual took place in a circular movement around the outside.

Waiting for my group of ten to enter the passage way, I wandered around the outer path surrounding this UNESCO World Heritage Site. Returning to the opening I suddenly found myself alone. The site’s guide and the group had disappeared into the Tomb. I had to find a place to leave the umbrella and luggage and strapping my knapsack onto my chest I ducked low under the stone lintel of the entrance. All was darkness. I had to move sideways for most of the passage was very narrow. I could hear voices ahead. I was well aware that I was walking where my Irish ancestors had walked, where they had brought their dead to cremate. I finally came out to a dimly lit rounded chamber where a large three-spiral stone sat in a recessed part of the earth floor. Small chambers opened off the larger chamber to roughly take the shape of the cross. Three large stone basins, each about one metre wide were thought to have been used in cremation ritual. The tomb was plundered in the late 800’s AD by Viking raiders and after its recent excavation there is nothing left but the stone structure.

During the early days of Newgrange’s excavation there was a growing belief that the rising sun, at some unknown time, used to light up the three-spiral stone at the end of the passage. Finally on December 21st, 1969, the excavating crew investigated this idea. They recorded that the sun appeared above the horizon and a small shaft of light about the width of a pencil entered the roof-box. It was an aperture like as in a camera, l meter by 0.25 meter, and had been built behind the first lintel and below the second. This very narrow shaft of light shone along the whole passage to reach to one of the basin stones in the end chamber. Quite quickly the light widened to a 17 cm shaft and swung with a life of its own across the end chamber and the tomb was entirely lit. Shortly this 17 cm band of light narrowed and finally ceased to shine at all into the tomb. The tomb was again in darkness. For seventeen minutes, it was recorded, direct light entered Newgrange, not through the main door but through the specially designed slit which laid under the roof-box at the outer rim of the passage. It was most obvious that a specialized ritual of bringing the light into the tomb during the winter months was established. Since the burial tombs were a place of reverencing the dead, it is thought that the purposeful entering of the light was possibly symbolically giving the dead a passageway to the afterlife. Six thousand years ago, our ancestors had developed a ritual honoring the winter solstice—the sun’s rising on the shortest day of the year. I was in awe at the knowledge these ancient ones had possessed and had passed to us. I stood where ancient ritual had taken place and felt part of the eternal link that connected us all and I felt gratitude.

Boyne Valley Hill of Tara and Kells Private Tour from Dublin

If You Go:

Newgrange cannot be directly accessed. You must be on a guided tour that sets off from the Bru na Boinne Visitor Centre, however you reach the centre.

To Get to the Centre:

From Dublin: M1 motorway heading north and turn onto Donore Exit near Drogheda. Travel six kilometers to Donore, turn right near the bar and restaurant, travel one kilometer to the Visitor Centre OR take a day tour that leaves from Dublin.

From Drogheda: Bus Eireann runs a bus to the Visitors Centre. It takes 20 minutes and runs from 10:15 am to 4 pm.

Other Sites To See:

Knowth: Another Passage Tomb; Also close to Newgrange; associated with the summer and spring equinoxes.
Dowth: a lesser of the three Passage Tombs in the same area.
Hill of Tara: 15 km from Newgrange; a Passage Tomb known as the ‘Mound of the Hostages’; thought to be where Scotland’s ancient kings were crowned.

About the author:
Mara writes creative non-fiction, travelogues, short philosophical essays and poetry. These are mainly based on traveling and/or a deeply insightful experience. Besides extensively traveling in Europe, she has visited North Africa, Thailand, Nepal, Israel, Turkey, China, Inner Mongolia, Tibet, Sri Lanka after the tsunami, Guatemala, Canada (coast to coast), local areas of the B.C. coast and the Yukon. She has recently returned from a six month trip that stretched from Great Britain to the Black Sea. A photographer, artist, teacher and writer Mara Baudais can be reached at m_baudais@yahoo.ca

Photo credits:
First Newgrange stones photo by: John5199 / CC BY
All other photographs by Mara Baudais.