In which teatime takes it up a notch (Ireland part III).

Mondays tend to be a little under par when it comes to Fun & Excitement, but not in our case. This particular Monday was a most excellent day for adventuring, filled with barren and gorgeous mountain crossings, colorful towns with funny names and salt-flavored ice cream, lots of histories, treacherous coastal roads with a side of ocean&tea&scones, ancient dwellings, plenty of sky action, and even one of those things that are born when the rain and the sun love each other very much.

 The weather was not forecasting in our favor when trying to plan out the week’s schedule of what to do when, and the locals confirmed that it was useless even to check, as the sky was currently fickle at best. So, we packed layers for all weathers and went to explore the southern coast of the peninsula: first destination Dingle (hee hee, dingle dangle dingle dangle – even more fun after having previously driven through Tralee {tra-la tra-lee tra-la}). Weyll, actually the first destination was a small pull-off area going through Conor Pass (– hah, just discovered a few videos taken by people driving across the pass, the first of which was taken from a car in the rain with no view, half the time pulled off on the side of the road, watching the car in front of them pull off at a too-tight corner and wait for multiple vehicles to suck in their sideview mirrors and try to squeeze by without anyone’s vehicles getting scratched, smooshed, or shoved off/into cliffs – all to the soundtrack of an electro-pipe version of “Colors of the Wind”. This one here is a little more badass/dancey, though you can go ahead and skip the first two and a half minutes). The half-hearted drizzle thankfully let up as we piled out of the car, and spots of sun even broke through clouds, spilling onto the landscape below.

 

Around another bend or two we found a more legit parking elbow, complete with waterfall. My mother had heard there were standing stones in the area and disappeared up the steep, twisty path to find them. I stayed below and glared at the ankle that had been (and still is, grmblgrmbl) forbidding me to do anything exciting (like climb slimy wet rocks) for the last many weeks, and threw it more frustrated looks when the adventure party returned with news of ancient standing stones settled in the middle of a mountain lake. It was raining again by that point, so we picknicked on pudding in the car before tackling the terrifying road down to Dingle.

"Terrifying" is only somewhat overexaggerated for the narrow, winding road zooming from mountain heights back to sea level – mostly due to the fact that it was raining and when you're driving on the left, all cars coming towards you 'round the bend look like they're destined for your windshield. No casualties though, thanks to Dad and the other drivers and St. Patrick or whoever else is responsible for that sort of thing.

Driving through Dingle in the pouring rain kind of looks like driving through an automatic rainbow carwash. Colorful water streaking down the windows, but not much detail. It did let up once we were thoroughly soaked and had had our fill of hopping from shop to shop, running fingers through soft sheepskins and over other lovely woolen things while waiting for the rain to take a break. Spicy hot chocolate at a pricey and confident ice cream place provided a much needed power punch before going to find some more coast. They had some creative flavors to be sampled, including "sea salt" and "toasted oat". I had to sample the salt flavor, of course, and t'was indeed interesting. Delicate salty taste. Probably prime for hot 'n' sweaty days. Anyway.

My parentals, who had been in this area a few years before, had fond memories of the Blasket Centre, so we headed there next. This is a museum conserving the history of a community that once lived on the largest of the Blasket Islands right off the coast. The community dwindled as the generations passed and the young people left for the mainland or for America (a.k.a. Springfield, MA saywhaaa), and was finally evacuated in the 1950s when the community could no longer sustain itself. Not only were the exhibits fascinating and accessible to persons of all ages and sizes (including an interactive exhibit based on learning Irish), the building itself was gorgeous gorgeous with a wonderful use of sunlight. The best part came at the end of the experience once you had gone through all the exhibits and learned all about the people who lived there, and then suddenly found yourself in a protruding, entirely glass segment of the building looking out onto the Blaskets. You could even see the ruins of the abandoned houses on shore. Big props to all designers/architects involved.

Driving a little further, we found a graveyard where some of the inhabitants we had just learned about were buried, tombstones standing tall with a perfect view of their island home. Nothing there other than a few sheep and cows, and a kickass coastline.

We continued along this route until passing a home-turned-seasonal-café in an unbelievable location, at which point the car did a u-turn. A few minutes later, we were seated outside with a view that made us go WHAT WHAT and homemade scones/rhubarb pie that made our tummies go YES YES. Of all my fond memories of this trip, this is (one of) the fondest.

 

We made one more stop along the route to have a peek inside one of Ireland's many prehistoric beehive huts, some of which date back thousands of years. The stones were carefully piled atop one another, packed in tight at an angle for the rain to run off. The circle of stones gets smaller as you go up, thus forming a dome at the top. Unlike the vanished wooden and thatched roofs of all the other ancient structures dotting the countryside, these were still pretty in tact. (Though it seemed pretty crazy to me that they could be as old/fit as was claimed without being touched up here and there.)

The return trip took us back through Dingle and the Conor Pass, where the sun was up to all sorts of crazyawesome spotlight mischief. My brain had a hard time. BUT LOOK; LOOK AT THE SUNBEAMS!

Luckily some adolescent sheep showed up to block the road while headbutting each other, thus allowing me more time to feast upon the landscape. And then... and then...

Then came the double rainbow. At which point everything just seemed ridiculous and all I could do was kinda nod my head and smile while my hands preoccupied themselves with the picture-taking.

Back home in time for dinner and settling into the wonders of the day.

In which we frolick 'twixt mountain and sea. (Ireland part II)

We awoke the next day to a mix of sun and gray, breakfasted heartily and ventured off into the great outdoors to check out the little town in which we had landed late the night before. Our most hospitable hosts next door directed us to a market in a community center a few doors down, so we scampered off in that direction while glancing nervously at the clouds congregating darkly overhead. It was a small market, but the quality was tip top and the smells were divine. A farmer with assorted vegetables and fresh strawberries (though not nearly as luscious-looking as fresh German strawberries, now at the height of their season); a couple different bakers with baskets of scones, sweet breads and cakes, savory loaves; a young couple selling homemade pestos, hummus’, lentil dishes; a woman making crêpes keeping one eye on two adorable children in charge of the nearby fudge stand; artists selling jewellery, photography; and even a chocolatrice from Dingle with a naughty array of brownies, truffles, and beautiful chocolate bars in creative flavors such as candied ginger mango or dreamy dark chocolate with pistachios and rose petals. We got into conversation with a woodworker who made the most beautiful Philadelphia chairs, all of them curvy and soft to the touch. He told us about their history and about his special technique, how he would love to go to Pennsylvania to see the woodworking shops and museums there, but was afraid of getting around in the big city, driving on the wrong side of the road, etc. Nice guy. He invited us to check out his workshop if it got too rainy, but our adventures ended up taking us elsewhere.

It was pouring rain when we exited, so we waited it out in the supermarket next door. Personally, I was excited to look at the baking supplies to test out my British baking lingo. Every few months we go through a baking phase at work, for which I translate all sorts of recipes from German into English to go with the products sold (cookie cutters, muffin tins, waffle makers…). As we’re supposed to use British English, I’ve been using some questionable-sounding terms for basic ingredients found in multiple sources online, such as “plain flour” for “all-purpose flour”, “wholemeal” for “whole wheat”, “cornflour” for “cornstarch”, etc. Turns out we’ve been doing everything right. They really do use those questionable terms in those distant island places.

I didn't want to whip out the camera in the market due to the annoying tourist factor, so I took a picture of this cute dog waiting across the street instead.

After waiting for the rain to pass (or at least pause), we jumped at the first sight of blue sky and headed down a long side road leading out of town, heading seaward. The partially paved 1-laner cut through fields alive with wild yellow irises and the occasional disinterested cow (one of which we decided was the cow on the Kerry Butter packaging... still on the lookout for the purple Milka cow on the loose in the Deutschland). Mountains to the left and scent of sea to the right, we walked on and on looking for any path to take us to the ocean. A woman we passed along the way told us not to cut over to the dunes until we crossed a stone bridge, as there was a channel of sorts that was impassable at high tide (--> foreshadowing).

The aforementioned stone bridge came just in time for the road to be washed out, so we crossed it, found a path through the dunes and HELLO, SOFT AND SANDY BEACH! Ditched the ole shoesies asap and went a-frolicking, but was soon distracted by all the shiny shiny diva shells shining up at me from all over the place. Even some of the snail shells I found were princess pink 'n' purple striped with curvy mother of pearl décor. The clouds stewing over the mountains became more and more ominous as time passed, and eventually looked convincing enough to make us head back home as quickly as possible, the sky then commencing its dribbling.

Back at the casa with scones in our bellies, a look out the window made it seem like it wasn't actually going to rain after all, so another expedition headed out to wander down a yet unwandered street. I'd found a good number of colorful doors and a path up through the fields when, hah hah, it started pouring again, but this time in the bright sunshine. I squinted around for some rainbow happenings, but all that was found before turning back was another collection of sheep and cows, though these ones were held under tighter security than others we'd sighted.

 

 

The evening calmly came and went with a homecooked family meal, cake and schmnoozing on the couch, tuckered and contented.

In which we arrive in Ireland and head west. (Ireland part I)

A Very Special Thing happened in June, being that Freund and I flew to Ireland and spent many a day oohing its greeny spleandours with my parentals. Family vacations don't tend to happen very often when the family in question lives on very separate continents (only 8 little time zones between ABQ and the Schland), which is what gives the Specialness of this happening its capital S. 'Course it would have been even more GRAND if the brother+wifkin part of the family had also been present, but, alas, not this time.

Coincidentally, I have this Wonderful Wonderful friend in Dublin who, during my visit last December, casually mentioned having a family holiday home in County Kerry, which would potentially be able to host my family should my family ever find themselves inside it. As there were already plans in the works for my parents to be in that general part of the world in the spring for a choral adventure, I looked into how to turn this dreamy thing into a reality. As it turned out, all it took was a lot of planning, an airport house key tradeoff, and someone courageous enough to drive across the country on the wrong side of the road, sitting on the wrong side in the car, shifting gears with the wrong hand (Dad, your brain/hand-eye coordination is genius genius). Okay, not "wrong" this and that, but certainly strange and unknown for those of us accustomed to doing such things the "right" way. (And this is coming from someone from one of the few countries in the world that sillily doesn't do metric, so I'm not complaining, Ireland.)

It takes a little under two hours to fly directly from HAM to DUB, and, once I made it through the NON-EU PASSPORTS line with a shocking number of other Americans (was totally not expecting to be surrounded by so much America immediately upon arriving in a country that is not America), I was delighted DELIGHTED to be met by not one, but TWO welcoming parties. One of which being MORE Americans (but the same-DNA/changed-my-diapers-and-stuff kind of Americans), and the other being a Wonderful Wonderful friend. There have been so many times when I've arrived in airports and walked through the arrivals gate to a crowd of people staring at me expectantly with the hope that I will be their friend/family/lover/casual acquaintance/business partner, etc. and I casually walk through the exit gate with a distanced, determined "No, no one's waiting for me and I'll just get on my way now, whatev's"-kind of expression, even though I am a little sad that no one is there, because big reunions at the arrivals gate is what Margarets like best. But to continue where I meant to take the story, this was much better than that.

After aeroport hugs and a holiday kick-off scone, we scurried through the holiday kick-off drizzle, packed into the automobile and headed west, destined for one of the many little Irish towns with "castle" in the name.

We drove through sun and rain, the clouds doing creative things above endless fields growing ever greener. About halfway through the journey, we pulled off at an old cemetery for the driver to do a little dozing. The rest of us wandered around the gravestones and old ruins. A colorful array of courageous flowers were climbing their way out of crannies in the old stone walls -- a sight that became common after the first day or two in this part of the world. The multitude of graves for babies and small children was disconcerting, as were the many "Margaret"s engraved onto the tombstones.

The road continued through many more fields and little towns. Roofless stone ruins of homes, churches, castles were surprisingly common, most of them overgrown and abandoned.

The sky cleared up as we neared the west coast and the evening sun made an appearance over the water, draping the huge, barren hills in gold. The road narrowed more and more until we eventually reached our destination. Thrilled with our accommodations, we went to have a look around and came across many brightly colored homes, a courtyard hopping with lambs, and a gorgeous lake bordered on one side by mountains. A huge moon was rising white in the falling blue, matching a family of swans gathering in the distance. It was wonderfully still there, except for the mosquitoes that quickly drove us back home, annoyed but excited for the next week of exploring in this beautiful place.

In which YOU get a goal! And YOU get a goal! (But only if you're German.)

It's just after midnight and it looks and sounds a whole lot like New Year's Eve from the fireworks exploding over the city, and the honking, and the cheering, and the whatever else is making booms and Krach out there. Shortly after the Brazil vs. Germany semifinal started, there was an almost-goal by the Germans that brought cheers and the first fireworks from the other neighbors on the block. I thought they were overdoing things a bit because, hello, no goal, but sure enough, two minutes later, goal #1. When the same thing happened again about two minutes before goal #2, I realized that, duh, the internet livestream was probably behind the live TV. The neighbors thus alerted me to the 3rd-7th goals before they happened on my end, and now the city is going nutso. I admittedly only follow football every two years (if I am in Germany, which I have been for the last couple of 2 yearses), and of course I'm all for the Schland (unless they're playing the USA, in which I am also all for the USA)((or Belgium, gotta cheer for les belges, too)), but.. what? It's hard to celebrate getting to the finals when they did so by beating Brazil, so hard, in Brazil, after aaaall the drama and protests and displacements and corruption and money and then the team playing with all that pressure on them to not let down their country (make all that rubbish worth while!) and then also playing for their star player after he was way injured in the last game -- that's rough. All the close-ups of sobbing fans and players sure did make the winning... awkward ...to say the least. (And, hah, looks like the last 30 or so people currently featured on my book of faces newsfeed agree.) Even the German commentator sounded like he started wincing with every new goal after the 4th or 5th.

There were a couple of things that happened at the end of the game that upped the ole spirits, however. One was that I got to see how the Brazilian coach hugged and congratulated all the German players and looked like he meant it, and also the general good-sportsmanship between the other players on both sides. Everyone was gracious. Put a little humanity back in it.
The other great thing was that a female commentator interviewed Jogi Löw after the match. Before this, I don't think I'd seen a single woman involved with the big interviews and commentating in the German broadcasts.

A closer match would have been more morally satisfying, but then again, the guilt will probably be gone by the time Sunday rolls around. And until then, I'm happy to do my part in supporting both Jogis Jungs and local bakers, one tasty pastry at a time.

In which there is a room with a view.

One of the biggest positives of living on in the top corner of a large building is the delicious array of cloudscapes that come awafting by everyday. Today was particularly savory and I had to keep the windows closed to stop the wind from slamming them around.

Recently returned from a very picturesque adventure in Ireland. Getting back into Internetmode has been slow and, well, not particularly desired after so much green and fresh sea air. More on that later.