THROUGH THE CHUNNEL TO PARIS

Can it really be our last day in London already?  Not fair, I say. Amy and I  decided to walk to Portobello Road and scour the stalls for treasure.  This is a most fascinating section of road that hosts a flea market every Saturday, complete with street entertainers, crepe stands, stalls filled with vintage alligator bags, antique lace and more old silver than you can imagine.  And, you might even spot the occasional movie star.  We hiked through Kensington Garden and wound our way through a maze of tiny streets.  The weather was glorious.  We spent hours dodging Italian tourists, peering into cases of estate jewelry and people watching. Amy even found a couple of tiny lead farm animal miniatures  to take home to live on her kitchen window sill.  I bought a beautiful jacket that I planned to wear to dinner and the theatre that night.

The late afternoon found us back at our hotel for a quick shower before walking to meet our new friend Catherine for dinner.  You will remember that we found Catherine in Edinburgh a few days earlier.  It was Catherine's birthday and we all met in the bar at her hotel for a toast.

Jody, Catherine the birthday girl and Amy

 After cocktails, we toddled off to a local restaurant for a quick dinner and then hopped on the tube to our respective theaters.  Amy and I had chosen to see Driving Miss Daisy, staring James Earl Jones and Vanessa Redgrave.  It was brilliant.  There is nothing more I can say about it.  We could not have asked for a better end to Amy's first trip to the UK.

Sunday morning was going home day for Amy.  She caught an early flight home and I met my friend Kathleen for the second half of my trip.  And now, to explain who Kathleen is.  Think back to 1962.  It's a convent boarding school and two girls become fast chums, trying to stay one step ahead of Sister Edward.  Sometimes we won, sometimes Sister Edward won.   But wait.  Now, it's 2011 and, thanks to the internet, we meet up again.  Let's travel together.  So, we board the Eurostar, travel through the Chunnel and voila, we are in Paris!

Thanks to our Cameroon Cabbie and his Top Ten Cameroon Hit Parade CD, we arrive at our hotel to find a little bit of paradise.  We are in a beautiful little boutique hotel three blocks from the Eiffel Tower.  After a quiet dinner at a tres chic Italian bistro, we walked the few blocks to take in the evening in Paris. 

This is glorious!  And, our room has a wee little wrought iron balcony from which we can see the Tower to the right and the full moon to the left of us. 

Ahhh.  Bon soir, mais amis.  Fermer la fenetre, Kathleen

11-11-11 at 11

Wednesday was shipping day, as we used to say in the horse biz.  Amy and I found our way to the train station in Edinburgh and settled into our seats for the ride south to London.  We had reserved seats and found that we were seated across from each other in a four seat configuration with a table between us.  The train made a few stops along the way, picking up and depositing passengers.  From the train, it looked as though there are more sheep in this part of the world than there are people.  Somewhere along this route a crusty looking fellow took the seat next to Amy and he spent much of the trip grading papers from students.  I think he may have been a cousin to Andy Rooney.  He had the same slightly rumpled look about him with extraordinary eyebrows that grew straight out before curling up toward the top of his head.  He had excellent hearing.  As Amy and I began to examine our map, looking for a route to our hotel, he chimed in with tips and advice on ways to navigate the tube.   We must have looked a bit dazed because he finally smiled and said not to worry because he would deliver us to the proper line.  Well, he did way more than that.  We all collected our bags and disembarked the train.  From there, he let us through the station, stopping to instruct us on reading the color coded map that laid out the twelve different subway lines that criss crossed the city.  Now, I am fairly adept at the Toronto subway, but that is only and east/west line and a north/south line, with a few spurs.  The London system is stacked, one line below the next in some stations.  But, our unnamed gentleman put it into the simplest form and then told us to "Walk this way".  Off he marched, with us trailing behind.  He took us to the cashier's kiosk where he told the clerk that we each wished to purchase an oyster card.  This is very clever.  It is something like a ticket in a plastic sleeve that you simply tap onto a big button as you enter and exit any station.  The gate reads your card in a nano-second and debits the prepaid card. Brilliant!  Then, he told us to fall in line behind him again and he lead us to the proper gate for our line, having already instructed us on which station was nearest our hotel.  Then, in a blink, he disappeared into the crowd without giving us a moment to properly thank him.  So, good Samaritan, we love you!

When we arrived at our hotel, we were pleased to find it in a converted Edwardian town house, with restored paneling and period furniture.  It was beautiful.  The young French woman at the desk informed welcomed us and then told us that the hotel had suffered a water leak the day before and they had to move us to their sister hotel.  We were a bit frightened by the possibility that the sister hotel would not be of the same calibre, but were pleasantly surprised to find that they had actually upgraded us and our room was wonderful.  All's well that ends well.

Thursday we went on a nice walk and visited two more prospective drama schools.  We were treated to a guided tour of one with another former class mates of my grandson's.  After a light lunch, Amy and I proceeded to Harrods and did a bit of gift shopping.  Now that we had a pretty good feel for the underground, we took the tube up a few stops and walked about and window shopped on Bond Street in the early evening hours.  Then, back to Harrods to purchase theater tickets for a Saturday performance, before heading back to our hotel and a nice dinner.

Friday is see the city day.  We bought tickets for the Hop-On bus and did the entire loop of the major sights.  This turned into one of the most moving rides imaginable.  Traffic was particularly heavy, even by London standards.  The date is 11-11-11.  The streets became more and more clogged as we neared Trafalgar Square.  Some event was taking place.  The square was clogged with people and there was a stage in one corner and a huge TV monitor.  We could see that there were speeches being delivered and it was a somber event.  Then, all traffic stopped dead.  All traffic in the entire city came to a stand still.  All engines were shut down.  As we looked out the bus window, there were people with posters passing along the sides of the buses.  The signs simply said, "National Two Minutes of Silence, 11-11-11 at 11:00."  At the end of the two minutes, a bugle played.

The bus moved on.  The second moving event was being right in front of Big Ben at the stroke of noon and hearing all twelve bongs.  Spectacular.

Our plan was to finish our tour at the Tower Of London.  We left the bus and spent the next hour and a half in the tower.  Amy had watched a PBS history of this palace and knew almost as much as the Yeoman Warder.  I had watched The Tudor's and was ready to see where the queen's heads had fallen.  Of course we viewed the jewels.  As we were exiting the White Tower,  we paused on an exterior landing to chat with one of the ravens.  He just sat and looked at us, not more than three feet away.   Very cool!

Again, it was a quick ride on the tube, back to our hotel and dinner in a local establishment.  After a shower and putting on our fluffy hotel robes, a good movie and an early night are looking like the perfect way to end a wonderful day.

WHY DO I HAVE A WEE HEADACHE THIS MORNING?

Monday morning and we managed to escape Lurch’s watchful eye! A quick breakfast (skipping the black pudding) we made our way through the ever changing road work zone and found our train to Glasgow.  The labyrinth streets of Edinburgh are nearly impossible because the city fathers have decided to add a tram line.  In order to have the entire line up and running by 2014, the entire city is being excavated at once.  Buses and taxis have found that the easiest way to get from point A to point B is to keep one tire on the sidewalk.  Being a pedestrian is an adventure.

The train ride between Edinburgh and Glasgow is very quick.  Amy had made a date for us to see the Royal Scottish Conservatory with a former classmate of Caleb’s as our guide.   Mia met us at the station and we walked the few blocks to the school, which is in the city center.  Downtown Glasgow is fairly manageable on foot.  Mia did a super job of describing her program and Amy picked Mia’s brain on the emotional adjustments of being this far from home and the depth of the program. 

After the school tour, Mia agreed to join us for a walk up to the Glasgow Cathedral and the necropolis.  This cemetery sits on a cliff behind the cathedral and we hiked up the serpentine path to the very top.  This provided us with a great view of the city.  Glasgow is a gritty, working city that shows the ravages of two centuries of industry.  But, you can see that the city is working at putting on a fresh face.  There is preservation and restoration work everywhere.

Upon our return to Edinburgh we decided to have another dinner at the wonderful pub we had found the night before.  We sat at “our” table and both decided on the fish and chips and wine.  As we chatted about our day and our overall impressions of Glasgow, we noticed a single women sitting at the next table.  We could see that she was a tourist, as she had a number of brochures touting the sights of Edinburgh.  Our waiter from the night before stopped by our table and asked if we had ordered haggis again.  This was the perfect opening for the single diner to join our conversation.  “Would you care to join us?” I asked.  But I was half a beat too slow, as she had already raised herself out of her seat and was asking if we would mind if she joined us.  And from this, a fabulous new friendship began!  And, just to show how our lives were meant to cross, we were all staying at the same hotel.  Coincidence?  I think not. Catherine is a single woman from South Australia who has been traveling about for the last month.  Her final leg to her journey will be in London this coming weekend to celebrate her 40^th birthday by treating herself to a performance of The Lion King.  Of course, several more rounds of wine and a few hours later, the three of us had hatched plans for a shared tour the next day and a meet up in London to toast Catherine’s 40^th.

Tuesday, Amy and I slept in a bit and then agreed that we were smart enough to figure out the city bus routes.  We discovered that the best way to find out how to get from A to Z is to stand on a street corner with a map in your hand and then spin the map about a few times.  Sooner or later, some lovely senior citizen will stop and ask if they can help.  This is how we learned that we wanted bus 21.   We purchased our all day pass and then climbed to the top of the bus.  Due to the construction, we have no sense of the route we were taking, but had somehow gotten the idea that the driver would know where we wanted to get off.  Not so.  Again, we had a dear wee lady offer some advice and away we went.

We worked our way up the Royal Mile to the castle.  If you find yourself in Edinburgh, don’t bother paying to get into this castle unless you are a modern day military aficionado (not sure on the spelling of that one!).  Edinburgh Castle is still a military base and it is not set up to give much of a look at ancient royal life.  But, the views are wonderful, assuming you visit on one of the eight clear days they have a year.  And, just outside the castle is a working woolen mill.  This is fascinating.  They are still weaving the tartan fabrics on antique looms.  Catwalks and levels of retail space where you can purchase kilt socks, a sporran or yards of your clan fabric surround the factory.  You’ll find a photo concession that will dress you as a Scotsman and hand you a sword for you portrait.  They will print your coat of arms while you wait.  And, cashmere nestles in every corner. 

Once we left the mill, we continued down The Royal Mile to Mary King’s Close.  This is an interesting tour down into the oldest parts of the city where people lived and worked 300 years ago.  Because the newer parts of the city have been built upon the old foundations of these streets and buildings, it is now underground.  A close is a very narrow alleyway between buildings and this particular one is where Mary King lived and had her seamstress business.  Amy and I rendezvoused with our new friend Catherine and all took this dark and at times frightening tour.  “Gardy Loo”.  This is what you yelled when you opened your door and heaved the contents of the family slop bucket out onto the street, where it joined all you neighbor’s contributions, all flowing down hill to the Nor Loch.  Yikes!

At the end of this tour, we three needed a beverage.  We popped into the first pub we could find.  We asked and Catherine confessed that she had never had haggis.  Luckily, this pub offered haggis balls as an appetizer!  Now, a plan was developing.  We decided to have one drink and one appetizer order of haggis balls at as many pubs as we could find, ending up at the Whiskibar for our final of the evening and the presentation of traditional Scottish folk music. We all agreed that haggis fritters are far superior to haggis balls. We finally got to the Whiski and found a great table.  It was somebody’s turn to buy.  We began to sip our drinks and found (surprise surprise) the couple seated to my right had joined us.  More Aussies.  Nicki and Johnny were on holiday with a notion toward finding a location for a future inn, at which they would become the proprietors.  And soon Johnny was doing what I have a feeling he usually does.  He owned the room.   He was up explaining Scotch whiskey to us all.  He was chatting up the bartender and making glasses magically appear at our table.  The music was playing, one young man in a kilt was dancing with the grandmotherly band member and now a South African/Welsh couple to my left had joined our group.  Jill and Roger were keeping up with us too!  

Roger, Nicki, Amy, Jill, Catherine and Johnny

 WHAT?  This place closes at 1:00 AM?  But, our party was still going on.  WHAT?  There is a place round the corner that stays open till 3:00?  Get your coats!  Yes, Johnny led us round the corner and down the stairs into a nightclub of some sort.  Our crew now numbered seven members and we found a wee tiny stone alcove off the main room where we could hear the band and still have conversation.  I must admit that vintage Black Sabbath is not my cup of tea, but God, we were having fun.  By now, we were all writing out our Facebook names and email addresses.  No one wants to miss the opening of Nicki and Johnny’s Inn!

The evening finally ended with Catherine, Amy and myself sharing a cab back to our hotel.  Amy and I made some sort of plan to set our alarm and throw everything into our suitcases in the morning for our train ride to London.  We must get some sleep.

I'LL HAVE THE HAGGIS PLEASE

Did I really eat haggis?  Read on.

Needless to say, Amy and I have arrived in Scotland.  It was a long flight, sitting in steerage, but we managed. I managed a bit more easily than Amy because I had the aisle seat and she didn't.  I won't name names, but  she did tell me a dozen or more times that the large man next to her was taking up more than his fair share of air space.  He wore his Bose headset and then laced his fingers together across his chest, pushing his beefy elbows out to the east and the west.  I know they were beefy elbows because Amy reported many times that it was like sitting next to a pot roast that was cooking away in a 350 degree oven.


We made our connecting flight in Amsterdam with no trouble.  Customs in Edinburgh was a breeze.  Our first order of business was to hit the currency exchange and load up on pounds and pence.  I had a stash of unusable kroners that were the result of an unfortunate run in with an ATM in Denmark a couple of years ago.  Seems I had not read the instructions very carefully and debited my US account for $800 worth of kroners rather than the intended $80.  The service fee that the Scottish clerk charged me to change kroners into pounds was painless.

A short bus ride brought us to our little hotel in the Haymarket area of Edinburgh.  The Lairg consists of several town houses under the watchful eye of our Lithuanian concierge, Lurch.  Well, his given name might not be Lurch, but he looks and acts the part to perfection.  I'm pretty sure he played for the former Soviet Olympic Basketball Team in the '50s.  Upon completion of our registration, Lurch pulled out a small map of the city to explain a few simple rules.  "Dis restaurant no good.  You eat in dis vun. You want tour, I set up for you.  Herz key.  Open tree doors.  Iz good.  No?"  We swore to obey and breathed a bit easier once we were in our room. 



A plan was taking shape.  It was agreed that Amy would keep her iphone set to US time and I would switch to UK time.  It was now early afternoon and we  decided that a wee nap would be just the ticket to set us up for a bit of exploring later.  We freshened up and then hit the sheets.  Lights out for three hours.



Down just a block from the Lairg we found a lovely pub and felt that a light dinner was just the ticket before we ventured into the city center for an evening walk-about.  The pub was cozy and we were shown to a quiet upstairs dining area.  When our waiter, William, asked what he could start us with, we quizzed him on the local beers.  Amy choose a pint of the moderately dark Bellhaven Best while I went with a smooth lager, Tennents. We then selected a lovely meat and cheese platter to share.  Needless to say, that first pint went down beautifully.  Since it had been a long day, we had to have a second pint each.  Meanwhile, Waiter William proved to be a great help in our planning for the rest of the evening, finding us a "Gig Guide" that listed all the pubs in Edinburgh, the genre of live music to be found in each and a detailed walking map.  What more did a girl need?  Off we went to find a taxi.  "Top of the castle, please."  In less than ten minutes we were standing at the top of a hill, in front of Edinburgh Castle, with our mouths gaping.  What a sight.  The castle is lit magnificently and gives you a breathtaking view of the city below.  Now, all this would be spectacular in and of itself, but it was the night of the Guy Fawkes celebration!  There were fireworks exploding in every direction.

 

We started down the Royal Mile.  And, here is the problem with starting DOWN the mile.  We walked all the way to Holyrood Palace, at the bottom of the hill, but all the pubs had been passed and we would now have to walk UP the hill if we wanted to hear any of that music that the Gig Guide promised.  So, up we started.  Now, as you must know, this can make a girl thirsty.  We managed to climb the eight blocks back to the Whiskibar and found ourselves two lovely stools at the bar.  It was now about 8:30 and the music wasn't scheduled till 10:00.  Remember the thirsty part?  Ok, another pint for each of us please.  And, since a bird can't fly on one wing, we had to have a second.  We were staring into our empty glasses and still had 20 minutes till the music began.  I decided to act responsibly and suggested that we only have a half pint for the next round.  Rats.  The band was still setting up at 10:00, and our glasses were empty again.  What better way to finish the evening than to slowly sip a glass of whisky?  I'll have the 12 year old Glenfiddich please.  Ahhhh.  The band sucked.  All the time we put in and then the band was no stinking good?  Well, we had best be heading back to the hotel anyway.  Now, we weren't exactly sure of the address to give the driver, so the simplest thing to ask for was to be dropped back at the first pub, from which we could walk the block back to the hotel.  What?  There is music coming from the pub?  Is that our favorite waiter, William, standing in the door?  Is he waving to us?  How could we not go and say hello to William?  Come in for another fine pint?  Why not?  Ah.  It was a fine evening, indeed.  We giggled all the way back our hotel and, no surprise, went straight to bed.

DAY 2
This is a day to scratch something off my bucket list.  We had done our homework and found a tour that would take us to Stirling Castle and a chance to see a part of family history that I had always heard about.  Somewhere in the past was a relative who had been born a Stirling, so I was certain that all of Scotland had been waiting for my triumphant return.  As we headed in for our "Real Scottish Breakfast" we asked Lurch to book us on the tour we had selected.  "Vat?  You no listen to me?  I tell you dis tour no gute.  You vill go on THIS tour.  Go eat.  I vill book dis for you".  Holy crap and "yes sir".


Well, seems 'ole Lurch knows what he is talking about.  We were disobedient, bourgeois tourists.  The tour bus picked us up in the exact spot that Lurch suggested and we then enjoyed a lovely day.  Our route took us into Glasgow and then on to Loch Lomond.  Unfortunately, the mist was too great to see much of the Loch.  Then it was on to a small town for a lunch stop and the expected mill shop.  As Amy and I went through the friendly cafeteria-ish line for our plates of lovely chicken curry, a woman approached me. "Excuse me", she said.  "Is your sweater knit with MadelineTosh yarn and is your scarf knit in the hitchhikker pattern?"  Now, if you are reading this and you are not a knitter, you will think that this woman is speaking jibberish.  If you are a knitter, you will understand and I need give no other explanation.  We don't have a worldwide secret handshake, but the last thing she asked me was if I was on Ravelry.  Again, no further explanation.


After lunch, it was back onto the bus and we were instructed to buckle up.  Things were about to get exciting.  We were treated to a hair raising drive through the eye of a needle.  Every hairpin curve opened up a new mist covered meadow, a wee waterfall and visions of Braveheart behind every tree.  We were in the Queen's forest.  November means the stags are in rut and Amy and I  actually spied a doe with her young suiter in full chase.  He was only a four point buck, but it was thrilling to see.  He sure wasn't thinking about our tour bus at that moment.

Stirling Castle is everything I had hoped it would be.  This past summer the Queen rededicated the castle following a massive restoration.  The interior rooms were hosted by costumed guides and a master storyteller took us on a spellbinding hour long trip through the last 600 years.

The drive back into Edinburgh was lovely in the early evening light.  The air was chilled and we were looking forward to an early evening.  The driver dropped us off at our corner and we decided to have a quiet dinner before calling it a night.  We selected another promising pub and were delighted to find it warm and welcoming.  Our waiter brought us the menus and a nice glass of pinot noir.  Oh, what a wonderful menu and it was chocked full of Scottish fare.  Oh.  They offer an appetizer size serving of haggis.  MUST TRY IT!  So, we sipped our wine and waited.  Jimmy brought us a lovely plate of haggis served with taddies and nups.  Now, I knew what taddies are because I have watched all the episodes of Monarch of The Glen.  Turns out that nups are turnips.  OK.  We both picked up our forks and took a taste of the haggis.  Um.  Well.  Um.  I think I will order the full serving tomorrow for dinner.  It is wonderful.  No, they don't serve it in sheeps stomach any more.

Tomorrow holds a train to Glasgow and some exploring on our own.  In fact, we stopped at the train station to pre-purchase our tickets for tomorrow.  However, we have learned our lesson with Lurch.  We have hidden our tickets in our wallets.   When we go to breakfast in the morning and Lurch asks, "So, vat you ladies do today?" we will lie to him and say we are simply going to walk about a bit.  We can't take a chance on him raising his eyebrows and looking down his Lithuanian nose at us to tell us "Vat?  Dat train no gute".

Testing. One, two, three. Testing

     It has only taken me two hours to reset passwords, enable cookies, and to click my way back into Jodysoup.  This must be the reason that real bloggers write regularly.  Those of us who are mearly drop in bloggers must clear a lot of cobwebs from our data bank brains in order to fire this thing back up.  Since my last posting I have changed my most used email account and been through a zillion password resets.  So, the only grownup thing to do is to take this thing on a test drive and then pray that in the morning I remember just how I got here.

     The real countdown has begun.  The only fly in my ointment is the failure of the rail tickets to arrive today.  They are somewhere on a UPS truck between here and Jacksonville, so there is hope that the driver will arrive before I head out of Dodge. 
     Just to give you a look at what lies ahead, here is a brief look at my itinerary for the next two and a half weeks....

     THURSDAY:  Fly to Detroit.  Why?  Well, I want to start this trip with Amy.  Seemed logical to meet her in Detroit and then we could sit together as we cross the Atlantic.
     FRIDAY:  Amy and I fly from Detroit to Amsterdam for a connecting flight to Edinburgh where we will, once and for all, put to rest the question of what a lad wears under his kilt.  Four nights in Edinburgh.
    WEDNESDAY:  Train to London.   Four glorious days and nights of exploring.
    SUNDAY:  Amy returns to Michigan.  I meet my old school chum and we take the Chunnel to Paris!!!!!  Two nights in the City of Lights.
     TUESDAY:  Train to Frankfort.
     THURSDAY:  Train to Bruges.  This has been a dream ever since seeing the movie In Bruges. 
     SATURDAY:  Train back to London for our final night.
     SUNDAY:  Fly back home

WHEW!  Sit tight, my peeps.  We going on a trip.

MARY’S KITCHEN

Tuesday morning and we are ready to hit the road.  After another fine Irish breakfast in our B&B, we called a taxi for a short ride into the car rental office in Galway.  Mike and the rental agent completed all the paper work and we were assigned a Ford Focus, automatic, right hand drive car that was one hubcap short of a full set.  No bother. 

Our goal for the day was to be in Labasheeda by dinner.  This would be no small task as Muhammed Ali was in Ennis.  Yes, that fine son of Ireland and former world champion was being given the keys to the city of his grandmother’s birth.  I’ll bet you didn’t know that Ali’s grandmother was an O’Grady.  The papers had been full of the story for days and huge crowds were expected for the parade and festivities.  This presented a particular problem for us as all roads in County Clare pass through Ennis.  Looking at our map was like a story problem in seventh grade geometry.  If a triangle has three sides and you are trying to pass a camel through the eye of a needle by avoiding one of the sides, what is pi?  The only consolation is that Ireland is roughly the size of West Virginia, so any detour we choose would only add an hour to our travel time.  We traveled southeast for a bit, swung southwest to the Shannon Estuary and then followed the river west to Labasheeda.  Don’t blink. 

Why were we headed to Labasheeda?  That story starts out with an Email.  It went something like this.  “Hi Jody. You might not remember me, but we went to high school together and you gave me a book that I still have with me.”  Um, yes, I did remember her.  So, I wrote her back.  “Hi Mary, how nice to hear from you after only forty years.  I live in Florida.  Where are you?”  She wrote back “Labasheeda, Ireland.  If you’re ever in the neighborhood….”.  So, we corresponded over this past spring and early summer.  Our letters were great fun because we both are very irreverent about life and fancy ourselves as undiscovered comedy writers.  The invitation was firmed up and we were expected for dinner on Tuesday evening.

We were a bit early, so we cruised through town to get the lay of the land.  I am guessing that town consists of about thirty houses, a pub, a school, a church, a post office and a community center.  We explored the road that lead out to a peninsula at one end of town.  Well, the term “road” is a bit of a stretch.  It is the sort of pathway that we all searched for in our teens as the perfect make-out spot.  As we drove along, the road became a single lane with grass growing in the middle.  We passed one car and that was only because we pulled into a hedge to allow the oncoming car past.  We followed the path until it drove straight into the Shannon River.  Thank God there was a little “T” where we were able to get turned around and head back to town.

We parked and walked to the door.  Mary and Bruce greeted us and welcomed us into their home.  It was a leap of faith for all four of us to think that we would simply sit down and be old friends.  And, that is exactly what happened.  Mike and Bruce got our luggage up to the guest room and then we were treated to the tour.  If I were to tell you that Mary and Bruce were doing a bit of remodeling, it would be like saying Joan Rivers had a wee bit of plastic surgery.  Their house had once been a dry goods store and home in a row of buildings that sit along the river.  Over the years, the house had become uninhabited.  It was a very old stone building whose roof leaked causing huge amounts of damage to the interior of the structure.  Some saw a derelict but Mary and Bruce saw their dream house.  The deal was done and they bought it. What sort of crazy folk would take this project on?  Why a dentist, of course.  Bruce showed us photos of the reconstruction process and they are amazing.  They are several years into the project and have completed the second floor bedrooms and baths, allowing them to sleep and bath in comfort, and have guests. 

When you enter the house, you sort of have to side step the new windows that are stacked in the front hall awaiting placement in the as yet to be added addition.  Off to the left is Bruce’s workshop.  This is the section of the house that was the dry goods shop.  Bruce has set up a dream workshop where he can fix or rebuild anything.  And I mean that literally.  He has power tools, table saws, hundreds of bins of nails and screws, workbenches, and things I don’t even know what they are.  He has a section where all the hand tools are hung in perfect order.  Turns out Bruce was an engineer before he became a dentist.  He knows how things work.  He can tear it down and put it back together.  Now that the second floor is finished, he is working at extending the back of the house to include a new kitchen and dining room with a beautiful deck looking out onto the Shannon Estuary.  The room that is now used as a kitchen will become a living room.

And, now to Mary’s temporary kitchen.  This is where we found ourselves seated after our initial welcome.  When I tell you that there is no sink or running water in the kitchen, I know you will be surprised.  There is a drop dead gorgeous dark green professional stove and two refrigerators, a table, chairs and two worktables built to form an “L” along two walls.  The worktables are covered in oilcloth and have a set of shelves underneath to hold bins that contain silverware and other kitchen items.  The end wall has the exposed studs that will some day be dry walled to form the living room wall.  Till then, little shelves sit between the studs for glasses and plates. Food is prepared, meals are eaten and the dishwasher is in the laundry room.  It all works.

Now, you may think this kitchen arrangement sounds rather primitive.  Not so.  This is the true heart of Mary and Bruce Dietz’s home.  What comes from this kitchen is nothing short of miraculous.  The food was gourmet.  The hospitality was world class.  We sat.  We ate.  We drank.  We laughed.  We became the best of old friends.  While Mary sat at the table peeling potatoes for Wednesday’s dinner, I sat and knitted and we talked.  We told each other about our brothers and sisters, our Mothers and Fathers.  We talked about what sort of women our daughters had become. The memory of that late afternoon, of two women sitting in a kitchen, listening to Motown as the day unwound will be something I will carry with me. Mary prepared dinner and I tried to memorize how she was doing it. Bruce puttered in the workshop and Mike read.  Over cocktails and then dinner, we discussed politics, the Irish economy, our cholesterol, travel, our individual roots. 

We didn’t eat and drink the entire time.  Mary took us on a drive about on Wednesday that included a trip along the cliffs that form the southern tip of County Clare, reaching west out into the sea.  I will dare to say that, in my opinion, these cliffs, out beyond Kilkee, are more breathtaking than the Cliffs of Moher.  The road is a single lane that winds along the top of the cliffs.  The sheep are on one side and the sea is on the other.  Magnificent. 

Thursday morning Mike and I packed up the car and said our good byes to Mary and Bruce.  Our time in Labasheeda was nothing short of fabulous.   I’m hoping we get an invitation to revisit and see how the house changes and reshapes itself over time.   And, I’m hoping Mary will cook. 

 

 

EVERYBODY OFF THE BUS

Is this the bad dream where you are back in high school, sitting in a classroom?  You didn’t do your homework, and you are hoping the teacher doesn’t call on you.  Well, it’s Friday morning and I am a full five days behind in writing about our trip.  But wait, I have some really good excuses.  Umm, I didn’t have an Internet connection some of the time.  Umm, Mike was asleep and I didn’t want to disturb him with my typing.  Well, you see, we were sitting up late with friends and I lost track of, umm, time.  Never mind the excuses and watch carefully.  I have nothing up my sleeve.  Pick a card.

 

EVERYBODY OFF THE BUS

Monday was one of those days that you have on every trip.  The day’s events didn’t fall into place quite as we planned. The racing was not of much interest to Mike as it was to be only seven races, all on the flat.  Translation…no jumps.  He thought he would take a pass on attending, but left a window open in case he changed his mind.  We decided to take a bus tour of the Burren for the day.  That particular tour would take us over a scenic route that I had traveled four years earlier. The tour included the Allwee Caves, the Cliffs of Moher and a lunch stop at a pub in Doolin for a steaming bowl of Irish stew and soda bread.  My previous visit to that pub will live in my memory forever as a five star meal.  The tour would have us back in Galway by 5:00 and the races didn’t begin till 5:30.  Then, IF Mike decided to take in the races, he could hop a taxi and head in that direction and I could either go with him or return to our B&B for a quiet evening.  It was a great plan.

 

As fate would have it, we had the very same tour driver this day that my friend Judy and I had driven with four years ago.  He is a wee bit of a man named Desmond.  His son, Declan, also drives tours, but he was on holiday, so Desmond was our man.  Isn’t it funny how time softens memories?  It took all of five minutes for me to remember the things I found a bit tiring about Desmond.  He spoke in double speak four years ago and now speaks triple speak.  He now speaks triple.  Now speaks triple speak.  The other difficult thing about him is that, as he has aged, Desmond’s Irish accent has become much heavier.  As he has aged, he triple speaks faster and with a much heavier accent. He speaks faster and has a much thicker accent.  In the interest of time, I am going to assume that you get the picture and I will not write further in triple speak. So, we are on the bus, we are heading out of Galway and the bus is sort of swaying.  Hmmmm?  We drive along like this, the bus swaying, and Desmond saying things most passengers can’t understand.  We pull over and Mike says to me he thinks there is something wrong with the bus.  A few passengers exit the bus for a rest stop and Desmond gets on the phone.  Here is why it is important to speak Gaelic.  No one on the bus knows what is happening and Desmond is making some sort of deal for our travel day with an unknown Gaelic speaker on the other end.  Everyone off the bus.

 

We milled about on the side of the road for fifteen minutes when an older, much smaller bus pulls up.  Desmond asks if any passengers have to be back to Galway by 5:00.  If so, they should get on the short bus.  I do not know where these people were driven.  I am only praying that they weren’t asked to take a shower at the end of their ride on the short bus.  Off they go.  Soon, a second short bus arrives.  It’s Declan, the son of Desmond.  He loads those of us who are remaining and says he is taking us down the road for a cup of coffee or a pint and we will wait for our new big bus to arrive.  My only prayer at this point is that Declan will drive the new bus because I can understand him.  We all take a seat and Declan leads us in some good Irish song.  He drives really fast.  Really fast.  We are taken to a nice coffee shop, slash souvenir stand to await the new bus.  When it arrives, we are now two hours behind schedule.  And, Desmond is still the driver.

 

Off we go.  We wiz right past the Allwee caves without stopping.  Because we are so behind schedule, there are many other interesting sites that are pointed out to us as we drive past.  You needed a very fast shutter speed if you wanted to take any photos from the speeding bus.  The other reason we were omitting tour stops was pure economics.  Over the last four years, Desmond and his son had purchased the busses we were riding in.  That meant that the admission fees at various sites had to be paid out of the ticket price we paid for our tour.  Also in the last four years, Ireland had upped the admission fees to many of these stops.  But, as we climbed up in the Burren, we did stop at the ancient dolman where the dead were laid out 5,600 years ago. 

 

We drove on.  Fast.  By now it was after 2:00 and I held out little hope that we would be stopping in that wonderful tavern in Doolin for any lunch.  We drove right to the Cliffs of Moher.  Again, I was remembering what it was like four years ago.  Well, the Irish government hadn’t changed the cliffs, but they sure as hell redid the visitor center.  The cliffs are still a magnificent site to see.  In fact, I am glad that the path up to the edge of the cliffs had been improved.  When I was last there, there was only a railing that stood twelve inches off the ground to keep tourists back from the edge.  In fact, I remember Japanese tourists stepping over the wee barrier to lie on their stomachs and shoot photos looking straight down the cliff face.  I always thought this was a bonus.  If they fell over, it was an exercise in jungle survival.  Only the smart survive.  Go over the edge and all of mankind is better because there is one less stupid person alive.  The Irish have added a proper wall of stone slabs standing on their sides all the way along the cliff edge.  This wall is about four feet high and protects the stupid.  I just hate that. 

 

But, that isn’t the worst of it.  We were forced to eat lunch at the tourist center.  Close your eyes and imagine you are in a rest stop somewhere along the highway in West Virginia.  Not the pretty part of West Virginia.  No, the baloney sandwich, pickup truck with no tailgate, Bubba belt of West Virginia.  The Irish government spent over turdy million Euros to build the most incredibly ugly cluster of caves into the side of a hill and called it a tourist center.  The main bunker is two stories and houses a pathetic, vending machine filled lunchroom that also serves frozen pizza and some other cardboard items.  All that is visible are two half moon shaped windows because the rest is in the hill.  They spent all that money to drill out a cavity in which to place the washrooms and a souvenir shop.  From the outside of this you can walk down a bit further and find about eight more caves that house independent tee shirt vendors, some sort of a music shop and another shop that sells punk regalia.  Of course, none of these shops are open.

 

So, we bid a fond farewell to the cliffs and head back to Galway.  Fast.  By the time we reach the city, it is 7:30 and there is no thought of Mike getting to the races.  We have no recourse but to find a wonderful restaurant and order a really good bottle of wine.  This turned out to be the very best part of the day.  In fact, when we return to Galway to drop off our rental car, we will try to return to this restaurant.  I liked it so much that I asked for their card so I can share it with some friends who will be in Galway next spring.  Cookes is a very small venue in a very old building.  It is intimate and cozy and the perfect end to some sort of bizarre day.